Silence of the Graham
by superpsychtime
Summary: Hannibal can't decide whether he wants to kiss or kill Will Graham, but at least he knows he'll do whatever it takes to get him, so that's a start.
1. (Coffee's for Closers)

When it came right down to it, he was nothing if not seasoned in the fine art of holding life in his hands, and then ripping it away with an unapologetic swiftness. Whether it be a patient in his care when he was an active surgeon, not unfamiliar to a mistake being made here and there on his part, or on his own time, when his rather _eccentric_ hobby of hunting down his next meal required strangling the life out of the dish with his bare hands. Despite the details of the situation, Hannibal Lecter was above all, highly trained in his field of closing the airway, thus stealing the breath of someone he hardly knew beyond the parameters of them being 'rude'.

But he never thought he could have his own breath stolen.

And yet, it happened, right there in his favorite cafe. He had a weak spot for coffee that didn't taste like dried coffee beans floating in warm spit (as most coffees did), and as he watched the man who made him forget how to breathe enter his caffeinated safe haven, he added yet another item on his list of things to be grateful for that the cafe had given him. The first item on that list being providing those around him ample opportunity to disrespect him in some way. Need it be a distasteful tone directed towards him or a badly timed roll of the eyes, those who had wronged him were promptly signing their own names on his menu. The second item on that list being providing him with coffee that was actually drinkable. The third, free wi-fi.

He watched as the man with the mess of brown curls and the piercing, grey eyes that flickered around the room, refusing to make eye contact with anyone, slowly scanned the room. The stubble on his face surrounding thin, pink lips complemented his jaw structure beautifully, and the individual features of the man's countenance came together in such a way that he gave Adonis himself a run for his money. The man looked to him the way a good symphony sounded, and his presence was quickly moved to the number one position on his list.

He continued to watch as his new muse looked around the room, presumably looking for someone in particular. His coffee eventually grew cold as he watched, as his love for admiring pretty things overrode his love for good coffee. He imagined this stranger being used in different ways, as different media, his brain rapidly envisioning him sketching and painting this stranger's naked body. Or better yet, him using the man's own blood as paint, being careful not to shade too much as his model would be pale, bereft of blood. At the very least, he felt as though he deserved to mount this man's head on his wall, in such a way that he could admire him everyday, as one would for the head of the majestic buck that one had honored every part of.

It was then when he realized those eyes he was so taken with were now making contact with his own, and his breath was stolen a second time.

This was an interesting development, as he had not seen the man make eye contact with anyone else in the crowded cafe, let alone begin to approach them, as he was doing so now. Had the man noticed him staring and would now confront him on it? Hannibal hoped not. Not because he was afraid of this stranger or even ashamed of his staring, or rather, _admiration,_ but he didn't want to be chewed out by this man then be obligated to slay him for his rudeness. What a shame it would be to overlook a gem amongst rocks.

The man, dressed in a tacky flannel shirt, grease stained jeans, and a jacket that was one size too big for him, Hannibal noted, had arrived at his table in the corner of the cafe. During his trek over he had lost and regained eye contact with him no less than ten times, whereas Hannibal watched his prey as a predator would: motionless. The man was fidgety and unsure with his movements, convincing Hannibal that this would be easy prey indeed.

"Um, sorry to bother you," came the voice that was much deeper than anticipated, "but I saw you in here the other day and I recognized you. Dr. Lecter, correct? Author of that best-selling psychology book?"

It was all Hannibal could do to avoid showing how delighted he was at the praise, feeling much like a bird whose vibrant feathers had finally gotten the attention he so deserved. He merely nodded in accordance.

"I knew it!" A smile spread across his face, and Hannibal was taken aback at such childlike glee. "I researched you and found no pictures, but several sources said you lived around here, and yesterday when I saw you, you just had this air of _elegance_ about you that fit the profile and I just, I just had to see if I was right." His voice dropped in volume as he ended his spiel, eyes turning to stare at his feet as red tinted his cheeks. "Sorry, I, uh, got a bit excited." The awkward laugh that followed as he scratched his neck amused Hannibal. This man was truly a contradiction, easily excitable towards complete strangers yet seemingly lacking the social skills to talk for long periods of time. He needed to get a closer look.

"Where are my manners?" said Hannibal after a long pause, "Please, do sit down."

Either his Lithuanian accent or his common courtesy caught the man by surprise, as his eyebrows shot up while he nonetheless took a seat in the chair opposite him.

"Is there anything I can get for you, Mr...?"

"Graham," he coughed to clear his throat, "Will Graham. Pleasure to meet you, Dr. Lecter." They shook hands, finally formally acquianting themselves. "And no, that won't be necessary. But thank you! For the offer. I'm not really a coffee person, I prefer tea, but that's besides the point. I have to go soon but, um, there is something I would like to discuss with you. If you have time, that is."

He took a glimpse at his watch, as if he didn't already know he was free the whole day. He moreso just wanted to make a point that his time was valuable.

"Yes, I suppose I have the time. What seems to be the problem?"

Will let out a breath, it was less of a sigh and more of a release of bottled up tension.

"I have these... issues, so to speak. They've been... keeping me up at night, and distracting me from my... work." He paused at odd places, as if mentally debating what parts of his story he would leave out. "Long story short, I believe, or, well, I'm _told_ that I am quite... unstable," he said the word as though it left a bad taste in his mouth, "and I was strongly persuaded to seek help for said... issues."

He paused to let his words sink in.

"You require my psychological expertise, correct?" He couldn't help but slide in the underlying compliment to himself, as he was a psychological expert in his own opinion and a strong believer of giving credit where credit is due.

The corner of Will's lips quirked up and he nodded his head.

"Well..." He took his time responding, as if deeply pondering where he would get the time to fit this patient into his 'busy' schedule. In reality, his psychiatric license had been suspended because of some of the 'unorthodox' methods he used, but what Will didn't know wouldn't hurt him. Yet. "I suppose I can squeeze you in for an hour on Fridays. How does that sound?"

The small smirk turned into a full blown grin, accompanied by an escaped laugh or two. "That sounds perfect, Dr. Lecter."

Despite himself, Hannibal couldn't help but return his smile with one of his own, and this caught him by surprise. Ordinarily, he had to force himself to make his face react appropriately in public with well timed smiles, smirks, frowns, and eye brow raises. If he didn't keep complete control of his features, his non-stop tendency to imagine slaughtering everyone in the room twice over would surely show up on his face, and people would be crying 'cannibalistic serial killer' faster than he could make amends.

But with Will, he felt his face relax, going into a sort of autopilot of human emotion and reacting to Will's peculiar nuances naturally and without thought as they continued their conversation. They talked about their differing tastes in music, Will favoring contemporary but still having an appreciation for classical, whilst Hannibal was the exact opposite. He was just about to invite Will to see an opera with him that he planned to attend next week when they were interrupted.

 _Rude._

"Honey," came the whiny voice of the man who suddenly appeared at their table, dark brown hair cut short and styled, dressed in a tailored, blood red suit and black tie. "You said this would only take a second. It's been _hours!_ " His tone was dramatic and the man unashamedly whipped out the pouty lip and the puppy dog eyes, a defense he seemed accustomed to and one that worked well with his too blue eyes. He put his hand on Will's shoulder and squeezed, hard enough that actual pain was visible on Will's face. Hannibal, however, was ever so thankful for the gesture, as it gave him all the more reason to take his time when he killed this man slowly.

And he would do so, ever so slowly. Maybe even before his appointment with Will.

"It has not been hours," Will maneuvered himself out of the death grip from this put together man. What this man lacked in manners he surely made up for in style, and Hannibal could appreciate that in some aspect. "It's been roughly ten minutes, you know that."

"I knooooow but you promised we'd have time to get frozen yogurt before the movie!"

Hannibal, remembering he needed to control his murderous expressions like yesterday, quirked an amused eyebrow at the petulant request and pointedly looked at Will. Turning crimson from embarrassment, Will sputtered, "S-sorry, Dr. Lecter, where are my manners? Alan, this is Hannibal Lecter, critically acclaimed author and my new psychiatrist," Hannibal sat up even straighter at the introduction, pride filling his system, "Dr. Lecter, this is Alan Bloom," he paused as if searching for the proper words, "my boyfriend."

And with those two words Hannibal's spirit crumpled. Despite having met the man hardly ten minutes ago, he had already grown so fond of Will, for Will was _his._ Will, with his beautiful face and odd behavior and underused social skills was his fruit to be harvested, ripe for the picking. And whatever Hannibal wanted, he often got, need it be expensive paintings or a particularly rude politician (and it was always tricky to not leave paper trails while hunting down that particular scum of the earth), so he was certain that Will would be no different.

None of this showed on his face though, being too skilled in the art of deceit to falter so easily when it was time to play his role. The relationship between Will and this Alan character would not last long if he had something to say about it.

The thought made him smile.

"The pleasure is all mine, Mr. Bloom."

The grin Alan gave him contradicted his prior childlike behavior so completely it was almost startling. His all-knowing smile suggested that he saw through Hannibal's facade, just a little, and knew of his feelings for Will. "Likewise," he said with a smile that made the Cheshire cat jealous.

"So tell me," said Hannibal, growing uncomfortable and hating that he felt out of control, "How did you two meet?"

Alan released an excited gasp while the sigh that escaped Will was long suffering.

"We actually started as a doctor patient type relationship. Isn't that funny?" The direct eye contact he made with Hannibal was taunting, as if he was instead saying 'I got to him first. What are you gonna do about it?' "At the time, he was going through some serious psychological problems because of his job and his boss recommended he see me! It was like he was Humpty Dumpty and I was the guy they called after 'all the kings men' gave up!" He then dissolved into a fit of laughter, as if the demise of Will's mental state was a long forgotten joke that had just been retold.

Will was looking anywhere but at Hannibal, presumably for a knife to end his suffering.

"But yeah, long story short," Alan continued, wiping away tears from laughing so hard, "It was like love at first sight. He is insanely handsome, if you haven't noticed, and I suppose he has a thing for people who can understand the inner workings of his brain, y'know?" Another pointed look at Hannibal and this time he was sure he was being mocked. Will looked insanely uncomfortable, as if with each word Alan was spewing he was also laying out pieces of Will's dirty underwear on the table for all to see. Alan seemed to notice this discomfort, so he did what he could to wipe it off his face.

He kissed him.

 _He kissed him_ , and Hannibal saw red.


	2. Nobody Puts Baby in the Corner

_Grabbing the steak knife next to the spoon on his table, he yanked what little hair Alan had and pulled him away from his dear, sweet Will, ending the horrible, horrible locking of lips that had set him off. He clutched the knife tighter and ripped though his jugular vein with efficiency, having years of practice to know exactly where it was and exactly how much force was necessary. Blood sprayed everywhere, covering the table, Will's face, his own face, and even landing into his coffee._

 _It was cold anyway._

 _Will sat and watched, motionless, as Hannibal proceeded to bite into Alan's neck, ripping out a huge piece before spitting it onto the table, as though the taste was foul._

 _A smile slowly crept onto Will's face as it dawned on him what just happened._

 _"Hannibal."_

 _Hannibal didn't respond, he had begun slicing into Alan's chest, seeking out the dreaded heart that had once loved his Will before he had been able to._

 _"Hannibal."_

 _He continued his search. It took more effort than anticipated to get through the bones. There were so many ribs that-_

"Hannibal."

Hannibal blinked and saw the look of concern on Will's face. Alan was no where to be seen and neither were the copious amounts of blood that had coated everything a minute ago.

"My apologies, Will." He took a deep breath through the nose, out through the mouth, collecting himself. "I must have been lost in thought for a second."

Will looked torn between wanting to believe him and wanting to push for the truth, but he let it be. "Well, as I was saying, Alan and I do need to catch that movie. I told him to go wait in the car. I truly do hate when he embarasses me like that. Public displays of affection? Really? Are we one of _those_ couples now?" To send his point home he quickly glanced over to a couple across the room, aggressively shoving their tongues down each others throats, drool surrounding their mouths as if Elmer's glue.

Hannibal and Will broke out into laughter, laughter cut short by the blaring of a car horn from outside.

With a sigh, Will stood up, extending his arm. Hannibal shook his hand with a sad "Farewell," grasping his hand for a few seconds longer than strictly necessary.

Will gave him small smile then headed for the door. He got to the exit and then turned around. "Until Friday?"

Hannibal smiled. "Until Friday."

The car horn blared.

* * *

During the two days leading up to his date, er, _appointment_ with Will, Hannibal did all he could to make himself, his house, and especially, his food, presentable.

In regards to himself, he went out shopping in search of a new suit. One of his favorite pastimes, besides cooking, involved him trying on suits costing well over thousands of dollars, promising he had the intent to buy something, swearing he would come back later but always going instead to his own tailor, getting a custom made suit done in 24 hours. He loved messing with the young, minimum wage employees, making them do his bidding and hold his stuff or fetch him ties and answer him truthfully when he asked 'Does this make me look fat?' The look of pure horror that the employees gave him, and he made sure to get a different play thing every time, was more than worth it.

His tailor, however, would have none of it.

As soon as he opened the door, Bedelia Du Maurier had over a dozen trained, professional, yet young apprentices swarm him, each holding their weapon of choice: measuring tape, pencils, fabric swatches, coffee to appease him when he's in one of his moods.

The experience was not unlike being attacked by a herd of puppies- that is, if puppies had no taste in style and dressed in overpriced clothing that they did _not_ know how to layer properly- but it was a gesture that he was nonetheless grateful for.

For her kindness, Bedelia was one of the few people Hannibal allowed to be rude to him. She shared this position of immortality with one specific cashier at the cafe, the one who manned the register and made the incredible coffee. He was a God among men.

"Now, what will it be for today?" Her voice had a soothing essence to it, one that she used in the way that a snake used its tail to distract its prey before having lunch.

"I have an appointment Friday and I plan to treat him to dinner afterwards." He tried his best to ignore the way he was being poked and prodded by the apprentices, as they meant no harm and were only taking measurements. He couldn't help but think, however, how most of them were so plucky and youthful they would make exquisite appetizers. "Surprise me."

Bedelia's red lips curled into a smile that any novice would have mistaken as 'predatory,' but he knew it to be 'excited.'

"Why, I have just the thing."

* * *

As he waited on the suit (to which he was assured a new shipment of Italian fabric was going to be used that would surely complement his eyes) he occupied himself by attending to his house.

Mind you, his humble abode was not messy by any stretch of the imagination, but a little tidying up here and there never hurt anything. He was a firm believer that cleanliness was next to godliness, and since he already saw himself as a God in his own right, having a place for everything and everything in its place had naturally followed suit.

Not one to leave things half finished, he sprayed some air freshener for good measure, drenching the curtains in the majority of it. It was a new kind he didn't usually buy, but it smelled of pine trees and mountains and reminded him of Will.

So naturally, he bought all the store had in stock (the look on the cashier's face was priceless).

Satisfied with the preparation of himself and his house, only one item remained: his food.

He thumbed through his assortment of business cards, randomly choosing his next victim.

* * *

He wasn't surprised at all to see that Will showed up an hour early.

In fact, he would've been surprised if he _hadn't._

A man of Will's particular nature, so unsure of himself and how to interact with people yet so willing to learn, was a curious case that Hannibal couldn't wait to sink his teeth into, no pun intended.

With a greeting and a polite smile, he invited Will in.

"Dinner is still cooking, I'm afraid, but you are more than welcome to watch or read one of my books." He prided himself in not only his cooking but also his awe worthy book collection, and would be offended if Will chose to give his attention to neither of those things.

"Thank you," he said with a shy smile, "Sorry I'm so early. If I would've known you were making dinner I would've brought something." He paused. "Why are you making us dinner?"

He continued cooking, moving around the kitchen with such grace it was as if it were an elaborate dance. "I believe that for our session, food is a necessary element to open you up a bit. It will help you relax." He looked over to Will, who looked away on instinct. "Think of it as... friendly dinner conversation."

He went back to cooking, and Will watched.

* * *

"This is," Will said between bites, "absolutely incredible." He swallowed, and Hannibal was thankful he stopped being so rude. Talking with one's mouth full should be reserved for Neanderthals. "What am I eating, Dr. Lecter?"

"Roasted pheasant with wild mushrooms, served with potato and a bit of bacon." Now, what he meant to say was roasted _peasant_ , as in, someone lower in status than him, but what's one misplaced letter?

"Well," Will said between bites as Hannibal sighed internally, "It's amazing. You've gotta show me how you do it one day. Alan would love to see me actually learn to cook something decent, for once." Will's expression soured slightly, and Hannibal knew good and well it wasn't from his food.

"Does Alan see your cooking skills as inadequate?"

Will snorted. "For something to be seen as inadequate, some inkling of skill has to be there in the first place. Alan has made it clear this is not the case."

Talking of Alan and his lack of appreciation for Will made the contents of his stomach turn, but it was a necessary evil if he wanted to get to the root of Will's problems.

"Do you feel not up to par with Alan, on occasion?"

"If by 'on occasion' you mean 'all the time,' then yeah, I guess so. We're partners but we don't feel, equal, y'know?" Hannibal noted that Will too had stopped eating and had begun to play with his food ( _Rude_ ) and his poor eyes looked so lost.

"Can you give me an example of what you mean?"

"Well..." he thought for a second, "For instance, our clothing. Our styles are different of course, me looking like I'm about to go fishing at any time and him looking as though he's on his way to the opera house 24/7, but Alan doesn't like my style at all. He thinks my clothes are tacky and homely and tells me as much. It's not like he's offering me new clothes though, and it's not like I have the money to spontaneously upgrade my wardrobe, especially after leaving my old job..." He stopped himself and offered a forced smile.

"It's quite alright Will," Hannibal said, deliberately making his tone gentler, "We do not have to discuss things you do not wish to."

"No, no it's fine," Will assured (score one for reverse psychology), "I'm fine, really. The other day Alan just said that I smelled like dog and he made a face-"

"He wants you to get rid of your dogs?"

"What? No! No... I don't think so," Will's eyes flickered around the room, lost in thought, "I mean, he's always had an issue with the amount of dogs that I have, saying that nine dogs is a bit _excessive but-_ "

"Do you feel as though you're surrounding yourself with dogs as a coping mechanism, a last line of defense from the past job you keep alluding to?"

He thought for a moment. "Perhaps."

"These dogs, they create a semblance of reality. They help keep you anchored, do they not?"

"Yeah, I suppose so." Will's head was tilted down, suddenly finding his plate of food incredibly interesting.

"So, my dear Will, these dogs create a sense of security for you, providing you with happiness, companionship, and a link to the real world."

Will nodded.

"Now what does it tell us about Alan if he doesn't want that for you?"

Will's head snapped up. He made eye contact for the first time in what felt like a long time, and Hannibal relished in it.

"I- I don't know what to say."

"That's perfectly fine Will," Hannibal assured, getting up from his seat, "Our hour together is up, unfortunately." He escorted him to the door, one hand gently on his shoulder.

The same shoulder that Alan had gripped mercilessly.

At the door they said their goodbyes, reiterated that these sessions would take place every Friday, and Will thanked him once again for the food.

Will was two steps out the door when Hannibal said, "Will?" making him turn back around.

"Yes, Hannibal?"

"I think you smell just fine."

Will's expression was a mixture of confusion and relief, but he thanked him all the same before heading off once more. Hannibal gently closed the door behind him.

"Good enough to eat."

Pun intended.


	3. The Kids Aren't Alright

He intended to kill him. Really, he did.

He had just found himself getting a bit... distracted. He may have been an intelligent, psychopathic, cannibalistic serial killer with a God complex whose cunning had allowed him to elude being caught for several years, but that didn't mean he wasn't entitled to acting like a child every now and again.

"I just don't understand why he's still with him if he's so unhappy." He took another bite of his shrimp cocktail, courtesy of Bedelia, as he continued to clue her in on his long list of hardships. "He barely has a good word to spare about him, and yet." He allowed her to fill in the blank.

"Is it possible that you're just using him as a distraction?" Bedelia sat in the chair opposite him with her own cocktail. They had weekly conversations like these in her office, not unlike therapy sessions.

"A distraction?" He sipped a bit of the red wine, _Chateau Lafite_ , that she had also provided for him. God, he loved her. "A distraction from what, pray tell."

"Isn't it obvious?" She sipped her respective wine. "You obviously have found a shiny new rock for your collection, and you're anxiously awaiting your turn to polish it." She paused. "I think the saddest part about it is that you don't even realize you're doing it." She chuckled. "Adorable."

In no mood to be mocked, he retorted "At least I have a pearl worth fussing over. You'd rather fill your voids with hyperactive pups who have little to no style."

"Are you referring to my assistants as newborn mutts?"

"If the shoe fits," he said as he took another sip, smirking.

Bedelia glared at him, then sighed. "I'm guessing by the overwhelming amount of sass, you _obviously_ know what you're doing and won't require my insight."

He didn't answer.

"I suppose that during the last forty minutes that you've spent whining, you actually had a plan the entire time. Surely." She sipped.

He sighed then said, "It simply comes down to the simple principle of 'If I can't have him, nobody can,' strictly speaking."

If at all possible, her gaze intensified. "And what do you plan to do about that?"

Silence. One that lasted too long.

"I'm going to have to eat him."

* * *

If there ever was a time that he felt the urge to completely crawl out of his skin, shrivel up, and die, right then and there would've been that time.

Sure, there had been other instances in which Will felt such complete and utter embarrassment that he was positive he wouldn't be able to physically, let alone mentally, handle it. Many instances in his life had made compelling cases that he would absolutely be crushed under the weight of the ridicule of others, or even that the momentum of the embarrassing moment in question would surely send him into a self pity induced coma.

None had proven successful so far.

Not even when his aunt Hilda had visited him, insisting that she kissed every new person that she met on the cheek several times, and saw it appropriate to squeeze his cheeks, whether they be apart of his face or butt, when he talked to people.

Not even when he was dunked into the toilet at school, and with neither of his parents able to leave work, he was subsequently forced to endure eight more hours of smelling like the public bathroom, as students who already gave him a wide berth had all the more reason to. Teachers didn't dare look at him on those days because God forbid they feel guilty about not being able to help out a kid being bullied.

Not even on his twelfth birthday. No, he _especially_ hadn't been crushed by the weight of it all on that particular birthday, though he had gotten pretty darn close.

That was the day when he had come out.

Well, he less so came out of the closet and moreso was pushed.

His stupid cousins had had the purest intentions when they had set him up with a date on his birthday. The girl had been pretty, borderline beautiful in the traditional sense, and Will had never been on a date before. Never had felt the interest to. Not wanting to let his cousins down, however, he went on the dumb date and, having even fewer social graces back then than he did now, stumbled through it. They had gotten along well enough without a hitch, he hadn't said or done anything that couldn't be glossed over with a simple apology, but then she had leaned in for a kiss and-

He panicked.

He pushed her away from him and stormed out of the restaurant, tears streaming down his face.

The next day the entire school had caught wind of what had happened, calling him names that weren't necessarily untrue. The school board was able to stop some of the bullying but not all of it, and the teasing that got through hit and stuck to his very core.

That had been the worst day of his life because it kickstarted the worst year of his life.

But this, this was a close second.

Against his pleas and polite declines, Alan had dragged him along to yet another strip club, loosely under the guise of the trip being in favor of his friend's bachelor party (if you can call someone you met a week ago a friend). Regardless, Will hated strip clubs because they exploited two of his major weaknesses he was avidly uncomfortable with: sexuality, and socializing.

Through an objective stance he could see why Alan enjoyed watching a woman toe the fine line of wearing clothes and not, seeing as he was bisexual, but Will had only ever been attracted to men. The whole experience made him uncomfortable and panicky. He repeatedly told Alan this, but he was insistent that his attendance would not only support Alan emotionally but also 'loosen up Will's personality a little.'

But he didn't want his personality 'loosened'. Will wasn't a run of the mill shoe lace tied in a bow, he was a _knot_. A frustrating, unbelievably tight knot that he expected only Alan to be able to understand and untie at his leisure. But lately, it had seemed that he had stopped trying. And out of all the ways Will could loosen up, this was _knot_ one of them. (HAH)

He looked over to Alan, who was practically drooling, transfixed on the strippers. He was about to tug on his sleeve and tell him he needed to go home _now_ when he felt a tug on his own sleeve.

"Hey big boy," a busty, brunette woman whose nipples were just barely concealed by a clam shell bra whispered in his ear, startling him and making him jerk away. "Care for a lap dance?" She caressed his cheek and leaned in closer while Will tried to remain calm, as if being approached by a wild animal. No quick movements, no loud noises. Maybe if he played dead she would go away.

"Such a pretty face... Listen, hon, for you, this one's on the house." She plopped herself onto his lap as if she had been invited, and started working her magic like the professional she was.

Too horrified to do anything to stop the madness, Will sat still, hoping it would soon be over. He looked over to Alan, who was getting a lap dance of his own while a woman behind him massaged his shoulders.

"Alan!" He didn't hear him. "Alan!" he yelled, louder.

Alan turned his head to see Will grinded upon mercilessly, and gave him a thumbs up. He turned his attention back to the girls, not wanting to encourage Will's tendency to be needy, always searching for approval.

His state of horror had evolved into being flabbergasted. How could Alan not see that this was no where near okay?

The girl working on him screeched to a stop when she realized that her customer had not been getting aroused and looked distressed instead.

"Hey, babe, everything alright? Do you want me to stop?"

Will was eager to say 'yes' for the first time that whole night, but instead no sound came out. His mouth just opened and closed as he fought to hold back tears he knew were fast approaching.

"Oh jeez, I'm sorry if I upset you! Hey," she got off him but kept a hand on his face, "it's okay. I stopped, okay? See?"

And that was the thing he hated. Pity.

Pity so deep and coming towards him so rapidly he felt himself drowning, causing his fight-or-flight mode to kick in. He stood up abruptly, stepping back out of the woman's reach. He wanted to say something like 'I'm sorry too' or 'It's not your fault' but again, no words came out and he could feel his eyes burning.

He pushed past the woman, gripping his car keys tightly with only one destination in mind.

* * *

He nearly dropped his tea when he heard the doorbell ring.

It was the dead of night, and it's not like he collected dozens of business cards because those people were his _friends_ , so who could be at the door?

Feeling more curious than cautious, he approached the door in his night wear, tea in hand.

He wasn't too surprised to see Will standing on the other side, but he was surprised to see how absolutely wrecked he looked.

His hair was a mess, which was saying something because it was naturally in a constant state of dishevelment, he smelled of cheap liquor and booze, but didn't sway as if he had been drinking some himself, and his eyes, those _eyes_ , he wasn't crying but his eyes were red and his cheeks were tear stained as if he had been at one point.

Hannibal wanted to hug him.

However, he also didn't want to spill his tea.

He stepped aside, allowing Will to come in and passed on the hug (because _priorities_ ) and closed the door behind him. Will took a seat in the chair obviously reserved for patients and Hannibal sat opposite him. He was hopelessly torn between wanting to seek out whoever put his dear friend into such a state and rip their face off, or be grateful that they had driven him to his door at such a late hour. Distressed, hopeless, possibly intoxicated.

His compliments to the chef.

Given that he planned for this meeting to be their last as he recalled his conversation with Bedelia, he waited patiently for Will to speak.

"I-," he took a breath, steadying himself. He moved his foot back and forth on the carpet and watched as he did so. "I was given a lap dance today."

He willed himself not to laugh and was glad he didn't, as Will looked genuinely upset by this.

"I know that sounds stupid-"

"I don't think it does," he interrupted, the voice inside his head chastising him for being so _rude_. "It was enough to make you so distressed, so there must have been a reason behind it. Perhaps it provoked some memory you'd rather not recall."

He shook his head.

"Or, perhaps you felt as though it was forced upon you." Will looked up, meeting his eyes.

He sighed. "Alan insists on going to these, these-" he looked away. "Strip clubs." It was said as if it were a bad word. "Being bi, he enjoys them but I... don't."

"You feel pressured to attend to appease your partner and fill the role of being a good boyfriend, however the mental strain it has on your ability to communicate with other human beings, as well as exploring the finer parts of sexual fluidity leave you feeling overwhelmed."

His expression was dumbfounded, shocked that another person could put what he was feeling into words so effortlessly.

"When Alan was my psychiatrist, he'd spend countless hours trying to make sense of me. But ever since we became... more, he has the misconception that he knows all that he needs to know about me, and I think it's hurting us both."

"Why do you find yourself staying with him?"

"Because..." he pondered the question, rolling it around in his mind to get the feel of it. Was it bad that he couldn't remember the answer off the top of his head? "Because of how genuine he is. He always speaks his mind, no matter how bitter tasting the truth is. If he doesn't like you, you'd know, but if he cares for you," he smiled, remembering, "He's loyal with a vengeance."

Not to be discouraged, Hannibal pressed on. "Despite him putting you through things like this, forcing you to question who you are and your own mental stability, you wish to stay with him?"

"Yeah," he said, "Yeah, I do. Alan, he's my rock." _Seems more like sand to me,_ Hannibal didn't say. "He keeps me grounded when the nightmares become too vivid, or I sleep walk too far down the road, or if I wake up not even sure who I am anymore. I always remember Alan, and I always remember him being there." His smile grew wider.

"This level of co-dependency doesn't startle you?" He wasn't against how much he seemed to enjoy being on the leash of co-dependency, he just believed he needed a new master.

"You think it's co-dependency? Really?"

His silence was answer enough.

"Huh."

He was more than willing to let that stew around for a bit. "Tea?" He sprang up, already heading towards the kitchen. "I know you're not a 'coffee person.'"

Will remembered telling him that when they first met, and although it was a small fact, needless to say he was flattered that he had remembered. "Yeah, that sounds good."

He came back moments later with a cup full of steaming tea. The cup looked like an antique, so Will was sure to handle it gently. "Thank you," he said before blowing away the steam.

They talked well into the night, touching topics of politics, religions, art, and skipped over the mundane stuff he was forced to talk about to everyone else with average intelligence, such as sports, or TV shows or, when his luck was particularly low, the weather. They didn't agree on everything, which normally would've irked him, but in this case it didn't. He listened to Will's perspective on everything and the same courtesy was given to him. He even changed his mind on one or two things because Will argued them brilliantly.

And that's exactly what he was: brilliant.

Will may have had the exterior of a frightened child but he had the mind of a professor well beyond his years, seasoned in the trials of life. It was truly a shame that such genius was going to waste, as he had the knowledge for incredible conversations but lacked the skills to communicate thusly.

 _Oh well,_ Hannibal thought, _more for me._

They continued to talk until the sky began to lighten ever so slightly, hinting at daybreak. They had talked through the night without either growing tired, and neither were surprised. Hannibal wondered why he had wanted to eat Will in the first place.

Then Will's phone rang.

Then he remembered why.


	4. Get Busy Living or Get Busy Dying

"Pardon me," said Will, reaching for his phone. "Hello?"

Hannibal strained his ears to hear the reply, but to no avail. But it wasn't like he didn't already know who it was anyway. He could feel his skin begin to heat up.

"Listen, Alan- What? Honey, I can't understand you. You're slurring your words and- Wait, are you drunk?" He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yeah, okay. Tell me where you are."

Hannibal could feel his sweet Will about to be taken from him once more, and he cursed himself for not eating him while he had the chance.

But wait- who said he couldn't? Once he finished his phone call, perhaps an early breakfast was in order...

"Yeah, I'm at Hannibal's house (*sad cannibal noises*) but I'll be over in a second. Okay? Okay. Yeah, love you too." Well, he certainly couldn't eat him _now_ , not with that theatrical brat knowing he was last seen here.

"Well, uh," he became fidgety again, a tick that had disappeared the entire night but had now returned immediately after his phone call. Interesting. "I, um, gotta go." He scratched the back of his neck and looked at his shoes, looking uncomfortable to stay any longer but not making any effort to leave, either.

"Well, I'll see you out." He was sick of the tense silence and needed Will out of his sight before he got impulsive. "See you at our next session."

"Right, right," he walked out the door and turned back around. "Thank you again," he looked up to meet his eyes, "For everything."

Hannibal couldn't help but smile. This kid was going to be the death of him, constantly making him jealous and angry, or protective and happy, and raising his blood pressure all the while.

"I hope you remember the talk we had earlier. About Alan."

"Yeah," he smiled back, "Yeah I do."

And after watching him get into his car and drive away, both men felt confident.

Will confident he had inferred that he and Alan needed to sit down for a long talk to clear up any misunderstandings.

Hannibal confident that he had implied that Will needed to break up with Alan, and the sooner the better.

* * *

Days turned into weeks, and weeks turned into months. His life around him was ever changing, slowly but surely overwhelming him with that intoxicated, disconnected feeling that only life could provide.

One of his new strays turned out to already have been pregnant before he was able to spray her, so she birthed a litter of puppies and everything seemed to be right in the world.

Alan told him that it would be a bad financial choice to keep all of the puppies himself, however, and he was right, of course. Alan had always proved to be a sort of reality check for Will, in that way.

He sold the puppies and got a hefty amount of cash. Half of which went to bills, a small portion going to new fishing gear, and the rest being spent on 'fashionable' clothes, per Alan's request.

Hannibal, with his razor sharp perception, deduced immediately that he had bought an entire new wardrobe from merely seeing Will wear one new shirt and a clean pair of pants at one of their sessions. He was also right in thinking that it had been Alan's idea.

"Why do you let him control you?"

"I make my own decisions," was the non-answer he had given. Hannibal seemed extremely unconvinced, but he didn't push for more information and Will didn't offer, and it was this kind of respect for privacy that he was ever so thankful for from his psychiatrist, the one person who actually needed to know more about him. The amount that Will wasn't telling him was ridiculous in proportion to how much trust they had built between each other, but it took serious time and effort to win over Will's trust.

He would tell him everything, eventually. He just needed time.

Time wasn't something he had the luxury to spare, apparently, and this much was shown when he got the phone call. It was a number whose contact information he had long since deleted, but he nonetheless recognized who was calling.

"Whatever it is, I won't be able to help-"

"Will."

"I told you that I was out, and I meant it. I haven't used my 'gift' in years-"

" _Will_."

"And I don't plan on using it now. I don't care what you need me to do, I-"

"Will!"

Not for the first time, he heard Hannibal's voice in his head. _Rude, Will. Rude._ "Sorry, uh, what did you call for, Jack?"

Jack Crawford was the head agent in Behavioral Analysis for the FBI, which basically meant he was bossy, loud, and a giant pain in the-

"I've got two families of four: slaughtered. Both murders occurred on Sundays, about three weeks apart from each other."

"I don't see why that would require my services-"

"The killer stuck mirrors into their _eyes,_ Will. It's left me and my team completely baffled."

Will was silent, lost in thought.

"I know you barely escaped the bureau with your head all the way screwed on, but we need you, and you know I wouldn't be calling if we didn't."

He let thick silence slip over the line as he pondered his choices. When it came right down to it, it was either he could preserve his own sanity, currently hanging by a thread on his best day, or he could help.

He could save the lives of others, or he could save his own.

There really wasn't even a choice, the answer was clear to him. Of course, he wouldn't allow Jack to know this and get the upper hand.

He sighed and said, quietly, "I've gotta think about it Jack, I'll get back to you on this."

Jack gave him the location and time the current investigation was taking place. "Remember, Will; the longer you take, the more people that die." On that note, he hung up.

The dial tone sounded.

And Will listened.

* * *

When one is the owner of the Mona Lisa, why does one still seek more?

It was like the discovery of the very first copy of the Mona Lisa, the painting done in the 16th century by one of da Vinci's students at the same time the original was being brought into fruition. Her 'twin sister' looked youthful, had delicate, lacy clothing, and an exquisite background full of texture and detail.

Her smile was real, and her eyes didn't follow you.

Be that as it may, to compare the restored version of the Mona Lisa to the original and conclude that the former was superior to the latter would be blasphemy in the purest sense. The original was unique, with its muted colors, aged appearance, and monotonous background.

Her smile was fake, and her eyes were shifty.

And yet! It was these things that made her one of the most valuable paintings in all of history. All of her imperfections came together to make her, for lack of a better word, perfect.

And the same was true about Will Graham.

It was a constant struggle for him to not fill entire books detailing the finer points of Will Graham, or not write sonnets portraying his glory. He knew that if he were to do so, he would be compelled to show Will his handiwork, or 'accidentally' leave one lying around for him to find. This was problematic at this point of their friendship, as the last thing he needed was to scare him off.

The hold that Alan had on Will (a role he was eager to fill) had become absurd. He wanted Will to get new clothes? Will got new clothes. He wanted Will to move in? Will started staying weekends. For goodness sake, from Hannibal's perspective, Will was already saying 'How high?' before Alan could utter the word 'Jump'.

He thanked his lucky stars that although his exterior was under constant scrutiny, his interior didn't change. He remained the same excitable, introverted, awkward hermit he knew and loved. But every time he saw him and Alan, hand in hand, he felt the overwhelming urge to eat both of them. For different reasons, of course.

But that couldn't be helped.

What _could_ be helped, however, was how much he saw Will outside of their weekly discussions. But because he had never seen him around the city prior to when Will had sought him out that first day at the cafe, he had to take extra measures to ensure that they 'ran into each other.'

For instance, he may or may not have recruited his own personal... Well, 'spy' sounded so _impersonal_. Abigail was so much more than that, and she went above and beyond.

It had been simple enough. After having tracked down one of Alan's psychiatric patients (a mousy young lady with long brown hair and eyes full of secrets) he had given her the opportunity to work with him and be under his wing for an indeterminable amount of time. In exchange for money at certain times and a decent meal at other times, she had worked her manipulative magic to swindle the exact information Hannibal needed. She batted her lashes and pouted her lip (a maneuver not unlike the one Alan used on Will, much to Hannibal's chagrin) and stated that she would only talk about herself if Alan talked about himself for a bit too.

And boy, did he comply.

She would ask a few leading questions, such as his plans with Will during the week, and he would then go on one of his rants. She made sure to record such conversations to be handed over to Hannibal later, and from this knowledge he was able to map out their date nights and systematically ruin them. It was a good deal in which everybody won.

Everybody except Will and Alan, of course.

An example of his most recent scheme involved learning that Alan planned to surprise Will and take him to a new movie that he had talked about non-stop right after Abigail's session. Abigail, a quick learner, had called Hannibal during a bathroom break and alerted him of this, giving the title and movie time. She then proceeded to partake in something that was a bit more than a tantrum and a bit less than a mental breakdown, seemingly out of nowhere. It had taken Alan an hour to coax Abigail out of the bathroom alone, and another forty-five minutes to convince her that she was perfectly fine and that she needed to leave.

Almost the exact amount of time it took Hannibal and Will to watch that new movie.

Will had been _so_ excited when Hannibal had shown up on his doorstep, movie tickets in hand and a huge grin on his face. When he got home, he couldn't understand why Alan had been so upset that they had seen the movie together. He seemed more upset that he had seen the movie with _Hannibal_ than the fact that he had seen it without him. If he was going to be so upset about his friends taking him out to movies, why didn't he just step up and do it first? Will just didn't understand.

As he sat in his office, Hannibal smiled at the memory. The movie had been stupid, too many dogs and action and not enough romance and death for his taste, but the grateful hug that Will had given him as they walked out of the theatre had lasted longer than strictly necessary, and he had relished in it.

He had doubled Abigail's portions that week. She was such a good girl.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

* * *

He didn't even remember coming here.

The walk from Alan's house to here wasn't _impossible_ , but it didn't feel likely that he had zoned out that entire time.

He just remembered telling Alan about his phone call with Jack, how he wanted him back in the game and what the repercussions would be if he were to take him up on that offer. Namely, the irreversible damage it would do to his brain if he were to sniff around inside the mind of a serial killer, just one more time.

But it wouldn't be just one more time.

He would do so well with this case, so unbelievably well that Jack and all the others would forget why he turned in his badge in the first place, and they would collectively guilt trip him into doing it _'just one more'._

He couldn't have that. He wouldn't.

He honestly didn't think his mental state, the best it had ever been with Hannibal's help, could take it. And he couldn't stand how unfair it would be to Hannibal to single-handedly undo all of that hard work.

Selfish.

That's what he was.

No matter which road he picked, whether or not it was picked by him, both outcomes would be selfish. Selfish towards Hannibal, basically sticking a middle finger towards the months of psychiatry he had put into his first grade macaroni art of a mindset, or selfish to Jack, essentially spitting on his badge after breaking it in two, metaphorically withholding the Elmer's glue just that much out of reach.

He hated having to choose. He hated himself for not having chosen already.

He hated Jack for guilting him into this, he hated murderers for actively working to keep their namesake, and he hated the world. Hated the world for being a breeding grounds for such hatred. Forcing twisted people to interact with even more messed up people while calling that 'socializing,' but when only one of them gets out alive it's suddenly 'murder.'

And people wondered why he tried to avoid both.

In the midst of all his hatred, there were two people he didn't hate. One of them was probably doing something pretentious in his office, and the other was coming down the stairs.

"Alan," he started fidgeting with his fingers, pulling and twisting a phantom ring off each finger being one of the several strategies Hannibal had given him in ways to calm down. He hardly cared that Alan was probably psycho-analyzing him right then, if his skeptical expression was anything to go by. "I just talked to Jack Crawford and..." He couldn't finish.

Alan, bless him, understood anyway. He finished coming down the stairs and pulled Will into a tight hug, one of the other few things capable of aborting one of his panic attacks. "Aww Willy," he cooed, "it's okay. Everything's going to be alright." Will couldn't help but cringe at the nickname he so hated with a passion. He had told Alan how much it ticked him off (any nickname that was also slang for 'penis' was not as endearing as it seemed) but Alan always, always used it when he was comforting him, simultaneously riling him up verbally and calming him down physically.

"I- I don't know what to do." He coughed to clear his throat. "If I don't help, people will die, but if I do..." He pulled away from the hug, feeling undeserving of such affection. "I just might."

"Oh honey," he tsked, "don't be so _dramatic_. I'm sure you'll come out just fine. You always bounce back! You are going to help, aren't you?"

Will whipped his head up to meet his eyes, shocked. He looked for evidence that he was joking and found none.

"You can't possibly be considering _not_ going." Alan crossed his arms, something he always did when he wasn't sure how Will was going to react to his words. "I mean... People are _dying_."

"People die all the time."

"Will!" Alan's expression was scandalized but he schooled his face back into neutrality within seconds, a skill he had acquired after years of psychiatry.

"You-," he stopped messing with his fingers, not caring what turn his emotions took at that moment. "You didn't even hesitate before answering. You understand that my _life_ is on the line and it's like you don't even _care_." He stood up, towering over Alan, who remained seated.

Undeterred, Alan retorted, "Well, if it's such a big issue, what is that Hans guy even for? If he can't put the teacup back together after it shatters, why are we even paying him?"

Will clenched and unclenched his fists. He breathed through his nose.

"Hannibal."

"What?"

"His _name_ is _Hannibal_."

And then he had turned and left.

And now he stood outside Hannibal's door.

Blinking away how dazed and confused he felt, he knocked on the door. He waited all of ten seconds before it opened, and he was hit with an aroma so strong it almost knocked him off his feet.

"Hello, Will."

"Sorry, uh, I didn't mean to disturb you during dinner. I- I just-"

"Say no more, my dear Will. Please, do come in." He gestured with his arm to reinforce his words.

Will nodded gratefully and entered. "I probably could've just called... I honestly don't even remember walking all the way over here."

"A phone call? There's no intimacy in that." He led the way to his kitchen. "You know what never lacks that personal touch?" He opened the oven, pulling out a dish that Will couldn't identify, but made his mouth water nevertheless. "Dinner." He smiled at Will, and Will couldn't help but look away. Lately he felt as though all of his smiles were directed at him, and it made him wildly uncomfortable in a way that wasn't _uncomfortable_ , just made him hyper aware and viciously self conscious.

"You've arrived just in time."

* * *

They sat down to have dinner, after a few of Will's polite declines and Hannibal's even politer insistence. They ate dinner the way they usually did, Will subconsciously moaning in delight over his food and Hannibal trying and failing not to be distracted by it. He thanked whoever watched over cannibalistic serial killers that he had a table to hide his arousal when such an occurrence happened.

Ten minutes into the meal, like always, Will asked what he was eating. Hannibal, as always, just said the first gourmet meal that popped into his head at that given moment. The more exotic, the better, as Will's moans of satisfaction always seemed to be more audible afterwards, as if knowing the ingredients of the meal intensified the experience somehow.

They fell back into their rhythm of sorts. Will talking about his childhood and Hannibal speaking of his. One of them always seemed to have a new embarrassing blunder from their trials as a youth that they were eager to share, only in each other's company.

Hannibal _loved_ it.

Ordinarily, he found the company of others tedious and the subsequent conversations senselessly mind-numbing.

But with Will!

With him it was the exact opposite. He found every part of him stimulated in every sense of the word when he was in his company. It was a nice change of scenery from the hollowness he usually felt. The weight of keeping a secret as big as regularly murdering people and eating their remains had left him rather... empty, despite how full his belly was on occasion. He couldn't risk letting people get close to him, no matter how lonely he got. One peek over the mental walls he had meticulously built over the years and he was sure whoever was doing the peeking would be frightened away, hitting the ground sprinting, straight to the police.

But Will had climbed them, effortlessly.

And he was still here.

Of course, he didn't know everything. But he knew enough.

And he had come on this impromptu visit for a reason, and it was his duty to find out what that reason was.

"So Will," he said, dabbing his mouth with his napkin, "what brings you here?"

Will began to cough feverishly, seemingly choking on whatever was in his mouth. Hannibal jumped up and began patting his back awkwardly, so used to taking a life he felt out of place trying to save one. But for Will, he was willing to try.

He raised a hand, indicating that his actions were unnecessary, that he was fine albeit a bit thrown off by the question. He drank some water (he hadn't even _touched_ his glass of red wine, Hannibal noted, frustrated) and ceased coughing.

"I came because I was angry with Alan, and needed a second opinion."

Hannibal sat back down and put on his best 'I'm listening' face, his entire being zeroing in on Will in a way that he knew made him uncomfortable, but humored him so much he couldn't bring himself to care.

"Alan believes that I should return back to my old job. The one I had to quit because of... reasons." He couldn't help but be delighted to see that Will was trying to twist off a ring that wasn't there, a coping mechanism he had introduced to him. Every little bit of influence he had on Will was a small victory.

"I'm not sure if I told you this, but I used to work for the FBI," Hannibal raised an eyebrow in surprise, for Will hadn't told him this, which ticked him off because he deserved to know everything about Will and then some, "and my old boss called me today, asking that I help with this new case. You see, I have this- well, I wouldn't call it a _gift_ , but I guess it's a blessing and a curse, depending on whose shoes you're in. But I have this thing that I do that was seen as nothing more than a party trick for the majority of my career but really, it's more than that because I can empathize with these killers, I see what they see, hear what they hear- I _become_ them, in that moment, and it's this becoming of them that helps us catch them so quickly, so effortlessly, because I just tell them what I would do next, because In that moment we are one in the same, two sides of the same coin, and- and- and-"

He was sweating bullets and talking frantically, spewing run on sentences in a way that Hannibal could barely keep up with what he was saying. He hadn't seen him so distressed since he had told him about his twelfth birthday. He didn't like seeing him so worked up, especially when he wasn't the one provoking it.

"Will," he got up again, going to stand beside him, "Will. Can you hear me? Will, listen to me."

But he kept talking.

"So many nightmares- so many sleepless nights- so many times I woke up, soaked in sweat, they were all linked back to my empathy disorder. There are so many killers crawling around in my head sometimes I can't tell if these feelings and impulses are my own or if they're the ones of last week's serial killer-"

Well. That was interesting. Hannibal didn't know all of this different meat was in this particular stew. He felt as though he had only skimmed the surface of the enigma that was Will, and if there was a possibility that Will could empathize with him, actually understand his needs and urges-

Well.

"Ever since the call this morning I haven't been able to think straight, every time I close my eyes I just see death. I see how it pulls me in, how it surrounds me," he laughed, a painful, twisted laugh. "How it waits for me." He burst into a fit of laughter, each laugh more forced and hysterical than the last.

He knelt down so that he was face to face with his poor, broken doll. "Will," he cupped his face, gently, forcing him to look at him. Will stopped laughing. "You must never heed the poisonous call of obligation. If you can not do something whole-heartedly," he closed the distance between them, just a fraction, "don't do it all." He was close enough to feel Will breathing, but at that moment he couldn't, as if he had stopped entirely.

Hannibal, on the other hand, was a whole different story. He took their close proximity as not only the opportunity but the formal invitation to smell Will properly. He had not done so in a while (he had pointedly neglected to after his entire wardrobe was renovated, dreading the possibility that he would smell more like Alan than nature) and the whiff he took now was delayed gratification.

He was delightfully surprised to find that he still smelled like pine trees, and dogs, and apples, and snow, and earth, and-

Himself. He smelled like himself and if he could bottle up his scent and keep it forever, he would.

He let go of his face and moved back, and he could visibly see Will resume breathing. Trying not be offended that Will didn't seem to want smell _him_ , he asked, "Feeling better?"

Will nodded. His eyes were wide and his pupils were dilated, which could've been from the panic attack he just went through, so Hannibal didn't entertain any other possibilities.

"Good." He got up and went back to his chair.

* * *

Will swallowed.

What on earth had just happened?

Hannibal, his psychiatrist, his friend and _nothing more_ , had just tried to comfort him during one of his... episodes, as Alan called them. Speaking of which, Alan had never been able to calm him down so totally, so quickly, just by his closeness and words. But Hannibal had done it.

His words hadn't been too wordy.

But his closeness had been a bit too... close.

Close enough that he had instinctively stopped breathing, a mannerism that was always kicked into gear when someone besides his significant other engaged in anything remotely flirtatious or sexual. A defense he had never used against Hannibal.

His friend.

Until now.

But Hannibal's intentions hadn't been... that, he was truly trying to help him. His friend. So why had his body freaked out like that? Maybe it was just the left over adrenaline from his breakdown making him too hyper aware of everything. Before he had intervened he had been somewhere else, horrific visions flying through his head, blocking his vision of the real world until there was nothing left but his own torturous imagination.

But then, he had grabbed his face, told him what he needed to hear, leaned in slowly, almost as if to-

No.

 _No._

He was remembering it wrong, surely. He would think about this later, when his thoughts were more clear.

"Um, thank you, for that." He avoided eye contact like it was his job. "So, you think I, shouldn't, go? To the thing, I mean."

He could feel Hannibal's intense gaze, though he couldn't bring himself to face it head on. Not yet.

"Will, I believe that no life is more important than your own. But if you truly decide to go, it needs to be, whole-heartedly, your own decision. It's the only way to avoid regret at a later point in time." His words were so sincere it almost brought Will to tears. He hadn't been saying what he wanted to hear, he had been saying what he really felt. And that, in and of itself, was enough.

"I- I think," he forced himself to look up and meet his friend's kind gaze, and he had never been more thankful to have such a friend. "I want to go. But, I'll only go, if you... if you come with me."

If Will didn't know better, he'd say the expression Hannibal then made was predatory.


	5. This Aint a Scene (Its a GAHDAMARMSRACE)

"It's a crime scene, not a date."

He had neither the time nor the capacity to endure Bedelia's complete lack of understanding, and so he simply sighed in response.

"I mean really Hannibal, does he even know how you feel about him? Does he know that your urge to kiss or kill him changes as often as the weather?"

Now that was just plain insensitive and borderline _rude_. Hannibal tilted his chin up defiantly.

"Not that it's any of your business," he said as she rolled her eyes, "But I'll have you know that I have not so much as daydreamed about eating my dear William in quite some time."

"And how long might that be?" She challenged.

He hesitated. She gave him a knowing smirk, already aware that she had won. Oh, how he hated her. "A week."

She stared at him, eyebrow raised.

"Alright, fine." He looked away. "Five days."

One of the several puppies that were currently swarming his body, fitting him for a new suit, giggled. He couldn't tell which one it was, though.

Oh well. He'd just have to eat them all.

"Hannibal," she said, exasperated, "I'd give you advice if I didn't know for a fact that you would just disregard it."

He stretched one of his arms, per one of the pup's requests. "Clever woman."

"However, I will say this;" She was at one of her many sewing machines, and Hannibal had always hated when she was in one of those moods of actually wanting to work and not just drink red wine and leave the labor for her apprentices. In those moments she tended to get rather self righteous and preachy. "Make your decision, and make it soon. You can't have both and be able to live with yourself afterwards."

Hannibal's sigh was long suffering. She was right, of course, but he would never admit it aloud. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to stomach a philosophical debate at his expense every time he needed a new suit though, which was often.

Maybe he needed a new tailor.

* * *

Picking up Will and seeing them kiss goodbye had been unnecessarily painful, longing shooting through him so sharp it was almost a physical ache. But seeing the expression on Alan's face when he saw exactly who was picking him up had made it all worth it.

Will's back had been turned but Hannibal had gotten an all-access pass to the look of suspicion, disbelief, and utter betrayal all mixed into one that Alan's face had revealed. There was nothing going on between him and his dear Will, not yet of course, but how interesting it was to see that he thought there was an inkling of _something_ between them.

How interesting.

Indeed.

When they arrived at the crime scene, FBI agents were moving around everywhere, going about their business towards a common goal so efficiently they were like worker bees. Necessary, yet annoying, from Hannibal's standpoint. It was because of people like them that he constantly lived in fear, but he refused to put any of this blame onto Will. It was hardly his fault that he could _see_.

They entered the house and were met by a hefty, black man who walked with an air of authority, as if he owned the place and everyone in it.

"Will," he pulled him in for a hug that made Hannibal feel as uncomfortable as Will looked, "I'm glad you had a change of heart."

 _His heart hasn't changed,_ he thought _, he's here because I agreed to come with him. His heart remains the same and it's one that I should've eaten a long time ago-_

"And who is this?" The man was eyeing him suspiciously, and with good reason. His veil had probably slipped, just a bit, as it did when thoughts of Will or murder or _murdering Will_ swam through his head.

"This is my friend, Hannibal." He put his hand on his shoulder, and Hannibal was surprised at the voluntary physical contact. Will must've been overjoyed that he graced him with his presence in the midst of such morbidity. The fact that he didn't reveal their professional relationship of psychiatrist/patient was interesting though, as if he didn't want to reveal exactly how broken he really was.

Or maybe he just saw him as a friend first.

The thought was enough to bring a genuine smile to his face as he shook the man's hand.

"Jack Crawford."

"Hannibal Lecter, pleased to meet you."

Being at the scene of the crime was like an out of body experience. He hadn't had a hand in this particular crime, but it still felt weird to be on the other side, picking it apart as if it wasn't an art form. It was like opening up a watch to see the inner workings, having never given thought before towards how it was made.

Will, of course, was brilliant as always.

He did a brief walk through of the scene, examined a few forensics photos, and then was able to retell the exact actions of the killer, as well as his thought process with every step. Jack and a few other agents were diligently taking notes, and all the while Will was seemingly disconnected from the world. Eyes slightly glazed over, movements jerky and awkward (more than usual), his voice lacked emotion and he stared at no one in particular. He seemed more in a trance than anything and Hannibal couldn't help but be transfixed by every minute action he took.

He had never seen anything like it before. It was beautiful.

When he finished, the agents dispersed and Will stood there, motionless.

"Will?" He took a step forward, so close their shoulders were almost touching.

Will violently gasped, as if he had just come up after having been submerged under water against his will.

His hand shot out, grabbing the first thing it could find purchase on.

Which happened to be Hannibal's wrist.

Hannibal stilled, unsure of what to do with such an unprecedented occurrence in a crowded and foreign area, and so he did nothing at all. He would wait until Will came back to the land of the living, no matter how long it took.

It took about fifteen seconds for Will to come to.

He blinked several times and looked around, unsure of where he was. He looked like a lost puppy and Hannibal felt the overwhelming urge to hug him and take him home, not for the first time that day.

"I-" he started, but didn't continue. Instead he just squeezed Hannibal's wrist tighter, holding on for dear life.

Hannibal took this as his cue to close the distance between them. Not in the way he wanted to, which he recognized would have been selfish in that particular moment, but rather he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with him, covering their hands and blocking off view of how desperately Will was holding on to him. The last thing he needed was for one of Will's colleagues to bring it up with him later, making him regret something so innocent and instinctual that Hannibal himself was taking great pleasure in.

The multiple spots of contact made his skin burn, as if electricity sparked just underneath the epidermis. This was a feeling that only Will had ever provoked from him, and he wondered if it was reciprocated.

Will looked at him, eyes flickering across his face, searching. "I-" he said again, like a broken record of sorts. He laid his head on Hannibal's shoulder, curly brown locks tickling the crook of his neck. "I want to go home." The hand that was cutting off the circulation of his wrist slowly slipped down to his hand. He interlocked their fingers and squeezed. "I want to go home."

Such advances had never happened between them before, and Hannibal found himself with his mouth slightly agape, taken aback as several emotions fought for dominance. The first was fear; he truly feared for Will's well-being, for he had to be at the end of his rope to resort to physical contact for stability. The second was confusion; Will's request was ambiguous and needed interpretation. Did he mean his own house? With his dogs in the wilderness? Hannibal had never visited him there before and he doubted Will was in the right mind to give directions. Or did he mean Alan's house? But there wasn't the tiniest chance he'd voluntarily drive him there, unless he explicitly requested it. Or did he mean his childhood home? Which he talked about at length, being the only place he felt safe for the longest amount of time, which he actually _did_ have the address to. Or did he mean Hannibal's house? The third emotion he felt was possessiveness; this was no stranger to him when it came to Will, but in such close proximity he was hit with the full force of it.

Will wanted to leave.

They needed to leave _now_.

Hand-in-hand, with Will's head still nestled in the crook of his neck, he led them out of the house.

"Graham!" It was that agent again. Agent Crawfish or something. "We're not done here! We still need you!"

Will shut his eyes and released a pained groan.

Hannibal wasn't having it.

Without turning around he called, "Sorry for the inconvenience but a medical emergency has just come up," they reached his car. He opened the passenger seat and gently set down and buckled up his precious cargo. Will was either asleep or on the cusp of it. "We have to go," he looked directly at Jack, who had followed them, "Immediately."

They stared each other down, two alphas trying to assert dominance.

Jack was the first to look away, to look at Will. "Tell Will to call me when he wakes up, and tell him I said thank you for his efforts." He looked back up to Hannibal. "This isn't over."

Hannibal smiled, but not with his eyes. "I hope not."

* * *

 _It was almost pitch black- the only light emitting from the full moon. Other than that one source, the entire world was engulfed in inky shadow, painted in nothing but shades of ebony, charcoal, and void._

 _It was the perfect night to do his work._

 _He had double- no,_ triple checked _that all of his tools were in his bag before leaving his house, so he felt confident his plan would unravel without a hitch. He approached the house he had been watching for the past three weeks and was pleased to see that all the cars were in the driveway._

 _He wouldn't want to exclude anybody. How unfair._

 _No one deserved to be excluded, especially not like how he was excluded as a child. But that was besides the point._

 _He picked the lock and had it opened in five seconds flat: he had been practicing. He smiled to himself as he tiptoed across the threshold and up the stairs, stopping at the master bedroom's door._

 _He slowly, ever so slowly, opened the door. How horrid it would be if the door were to creak, giving away the surprise._

 _The door was now open and inside were the sleeping figures of dear Mom and Dad. He didn't bother to learn their names during the weeks he watched them, didn't want to get attached and have second thoughts._

 _He pulled his pistol out of his bag._

 _He switched the lights on._

 _It was time for the fun to begin._

Will gasped for breath as he jerked awake. He had a bad taste in his mouth and was covered in sweat. Like clockwork, the nightmares had begun.

He looked around the unfamiliar room, panting heavily, trying not to panic and failing. The last thing he could remember was getting into the mind of the killer of the family of four, and then he had grabbed something. Something strong and steady, something that made him feel safe and present and like himself but for the life of him he couldn't remember what it was. He remembered asking to go home and now he was-

Here.

Wherever that was.

It seemed to be some sort of guest room, if the white sheets and generic furniture were any indication. He continued to scan the room, trying to geographically place himself, when he heard it.

The opening of a door.

* * *

He opened the door to find Will, drenched in sweat and resembling a deer caught in headlights, staring at him, breathing heavily.

"Oh, sorry." He said as he moved towards him. Slowly, as to not scare him away. "I didn't know you were up, or else I would have knocked." He reached the bed and slowly offered him the tray he had brought, equipped with freshly made food, a glass of water, and aspirin.

Will stared at him in disbelief for a bit longer, as if he were a poltergeist. Finally, he accepted the tray, nodding his head vigorously in gratitude.

Hannibal gave him a soft smile. He pulled a chair over and sat down perpendicular to the bed. "How are you feeling, dear William?"

Will shrugged his shoulders and began to eat as if he hadn't eaten anything with flavor in days. Considering that Alan made the majority of the meals he ate, he didn't deem this as too improbable.

"You gave me quite a scare there," he said, uncomfortable with the truth in his words. "How much do you remember?" He was torn between whether or not he wanted Will to remember how he had to carry him from the car to the bed, not unlike a sleeping fair maiden.

Will finished chewing before answering (another small victory). "I remember being completely surrounded by his thoughts, his feelings. His mind was like water, the fluidity of it allowing it to reach out and touch every part of my brain," he paused, as if ashamed, "my brain an eager sponge, lapping it up without question." He sounded disgusted.

"What else do you remember?"

"I remember grabbing on to something. And when I did, I had felt safe. I felt real, again. I asked to go home and now I'm here and-" His eyes flicked up, sudden realization painting his features.

"Oh."

Will was looking at him, but it was Hannibal's turn to not make eye contact. He wasn't embarrassed about the hand holding, but he also didn't want Will to see how much he had enjoyed it, and Will could read him like a picture book.

"Hannibal, I am so sorry." Hannibal furrowed his brow in confusion. "If I made you feel uncomfortable in any way, I apologize. I don't want to jeopardize our friendship and if I could take it back-"

"Will, it's fine. You act as if you are some prickly hedgehog instead of the puppy you really are." He didn't mean to say those exact words, but Will was being thick and it frustrated him. Will blushed and ducked his head, probably at being referred to as a puppy. "Now if you'd like, I could drive you home when you finish eating, but you're free to take this bed for the night."

"Thank you, Hannibal."

Hannibal got up and headed back at the door, pleased for now that Will would be staying the night.

He began to close the door and almost didn't catch Will's whispered words.

"For everything."

He shut the door completely and took Will's phone out of his pocket. The several missed calls from Alan would just have to wait until morning, for his sweet dove needed his rest.


	6. A Little Less Sixteen Candles

He wanted to say that he was surprised to see Alan's car parked outside his favorite cafe.

But he wasn't.

He knew that it was only a matter of time before he was confronted, and to be honest he was surprised that it hadn't happened earlier. Perhaps he had given Alan's intellect a bit too much credit.

He strode over to the car and tapped on the driver's window. Alan rolled the window down, face beet red and likely angry that he had been beaten in the element of surprise.

"Oh, pardon me, I thought Will was in there," he lied. Really, it was all too tempting to ruffle Alan's feathers whenever he got the chance. And mentioning Will's name seemed to do the trick.

Alan kept his composure for the most part though, managing not to clench his teeth when he talked. "Would you care to join me in my car, doctor?" He had no doubt in his mind that he referred to him as 'doctor' because he had forgotten his name.

He smiled. "Certainly."

* * *

"Whatever it is you're doing: stop."

Hannibal put on his best innocent face, which really wasn't all that convincing. "Stop what? Please elaborate, my dear Bloom."

Alan huffed and his car picked up speed. "Stop with the charm and the accents and the movie nights and the sleepovers and _all of it_. He won't stop talking about you and how much you've been helping him and it's driving me up the wall, honestly."

So Will had been talking about him? He didn't bother to mask how delighted he felt.

"Oh, that makes you happy, huh? I thought it would. That's why we will be terminating your services, effective immediately."

Hannibal's head whipped around so fast it looked almost inhuman. "What?"

Alan looked at him and sped up just a bit more. "You heard me."

His mind thought about what was on his person, mentally searching to see if he currently had a weapon. Likewise his eyes were frantically looking about the car, looking for a potential makeshift weapon. "And you and Will came to this decision together? We have done nothing to spark such alarm."

"Oh, Will doesn't know about this yet," he should've guessed, "But no matter what he wants, this, _thing_ between you two, ends now." His knuckles were white on the steering wheel. "I'm the one who pays for these appointments, I'm the one who is going to end them."

"Will will still come," he said with a surety, "and I will still treat him."

"Well, if you do that, I believe there will be more than one friendly policeman who will be intrigued to find out how your psychiatric licence was suspended." Hannibal controlled his expression so his surprise wouldn't show. "That's right. I would've already gone to them, but the kindness in my heart was telling me that even scum like you deserve a second chance."

He screeched to a stop.

"Get out."

Hannibal didn't move but took in their surroundings.

"We're half an hour away from my house. Why did you drive me all this way?"

"Cause I knew you were wearing a new suit," he smiled visciously, "and I wanted to help you break it in. You'd better get a move on though, I heard it was going to start raining soon."

Hannibal looked at him, fire and brimstone burning behind his eyes. Venom pulsed through his veins, aching to get out and burn his miserable, miserable flesh.

"You don't want to do this," he said. "Will will resent you, and you certainly don't want to make an enemy out of me."

"Get out of the car right now or I call the police."

Hannibal smirked, but complied. Once outside the car he leaned back down to the window. "Enjoy Will while you can, Bloom," Alan began to roll his window back up, "Your days together are numbered, for there will be a reckoning."

Alan backed up his car, giving him the finger with one hand. "If you call Will to come pick you up," he said as he started to drive away, slowly, "So help me I will kill you with my bare hands."

He didn't mean to, but he waited until Alan was out of earshot before responding.

"And thus commences the race."

And then it began to rain.

* * *

Contrary to popular belief, Will _did_ have some social skills, and he collected said skills and kept them to himself until he had a nice allowance of them. And with his spare change he usually invested these skills into communicating with Hannibal, and it was money well spent.

He and Hannibal had been having phone conversations, almost everyday, and their last conversation had been more than a few days ago.

He wouldn't say he missed the sound of his voice. No, he most definitely wouldn't say that out loud.

He just wanted to talk to him. Badly. About nothing in particular really.

He took out his phone and pressed his contact name, anticipating only a few rings.

One ring.

Two rings.

"Hello, Will."

It amused him how completely serious his companion always sounded. Even when face-to-face he had this, _intensity_ about him that Will was strangely drawn to. All of his focus was on him, he had his undivided attention. Admittedly, it made him feel special. Safe. Loved, even.

"Hey, Hannibal," he said, smiling. "What are you doing?"

There was a pause.

"Oh, just out for a walk."

 _Bullcrap._

Will could always tell when he was lying or not telling the whole truth, and he was sure the same could be said about him. What was he not telling him?

"Uh, huh." He looked out the window. "And why are you walking in the pouring rain, might I ask?"

Another pause, a bit longer than the last.

"I needed the exercise."

Will humphed in defeat. Now he was blatantly lying to him and not even with a good one. "Hannibal, what's wrong?"

Silence spoke louder than words.

Worry began to creep up on Will. "Hannibal, tell me where you are."

Hannibal told him the nearest street sign he could see. Will told him to wait by the nearest gas station and he promised he would stay on the line with him until Alan came back with the car. He really didn't feel comfortable with Alan paying for things for him, like his sessions with Hannibal or insisting they co-own a car (Will had a car of his own at one point, but Alan made a compelling case that he would get a good amount of cash for something so 'vintage'), but it made Alan happy to be in control of little things like that, so he allowed it.

Ten minutes later Alan came through the door, drenched in water from the short distance from the car to the front door. Will's stomach dropped when he thought about how Hannibal looked, having been walking in such a storm for who knows how long. He hadn't asked how Hannibal had gotten in such a predicament, because he knew he wouldn't get a real answer.

Or worse yet, he would lie.

He ended the call with Hannibal and strode up to Alan, who was leaning against the door, exhausted.

"Who were you talking to?" He looked and sounded ridiculously suspicious.

"Hannibal," he kissed Alan's cheek in greeting. They hadn't kissed on the lips in weeks, now that he thought about it. "I need the car keys, honey."

Alan's stony expression was so off-putting Will had to take a step back.

"Did he call you?"

"No, I called him. Alan, what-"

"You're not allowed to see him anymore."

Now he was really confused. "Not allowed? What do you mean 'not allowed'? I'm a grown man, and I'll see whoever I want." He paused, trying to dampen the fire that was beginning to flare in his stomach. "And why do you say it like that? 'Seeing him,' like I'm going behind your back or something."

Alan stared, accusatory.

"My God, you're jealous! Of Hannibal? We're just friends!" He stepped forward, invading his personal space and wrapping his arms around his torso, "What you and I have, I don't have with Hannibal." He leaned forward and kissed him, a real kiss, on the lips. Alan kissed back but the action felt.. off. Like they were both in two different places, not really invested in the show of affection, treating it as if it were a handshake.

He broke the kiss. Alan tasted of salt and rainwater. "May I have the keys?" He felt ridiculous asking for the keys to a car he half owned, but Alan was in one of his moods again, apparently.

He handed over the keys and stepped out the way. Will was halfway out the door when he said "I'm not paying for your sessions anymore." Will stopped, "and if you really love me, like really _really_ love me, you'll respect my wishes and stop seeing him."

"You-" he turned around to look at him, not daring to shy away from eye contact. "You _what_?"

"You heard me." And oh, how he hated when he said that.

He clenched and unclenched his fists. He breathed through his nose.

"He was right about you." He paused to hear a response, and after not hearing one he continued. "You _are_ trying to control me, and you've succeeded. Up until now. I'm awake now, I can _see_." He paused. "And I'm going to continue seeing Hannibal. I'm sorry that you couldn't find it in your heart to trust me."

He stormed out, clutching the car keys so tight they almost tore through his skin.

* * *

"Hey buddy, no loitering."

The heavily muscled man in the baseball cap who smelled of petroleum oil would've come off as 'threatening' to most, but to Hannibal he just screamed of 'high cholesterol,' a meal too high risk to be eaten.

Hannibal simply rolled his eyes. "I'm waiting for a friend, and I've had the misfortune to be stranded at your gas station, so I would suggest, for both of our sakes, that you would mind your own business."

The brute actually growled at him.

Hannibal growled back.

At that very moment, a familiar car pulled up, the same one that had dropped him off a while ago.

Will rolled the window down and smiled. "Taxi service for the rich and powerful," he teased.

"And here is my dear sweet William now," he said to the neanderthal. "I hate to cut such a charming conversation short." He made his way to the passenger side and sat down.

"Thank you, Will." Will's smile grew wider.

Hannibal couldn't bring himself to smile back, however, not when he knew that those smiles were going to be limited from here on out.

* * *

When he didn't smile back at him, he officially knew something was wrong.

Hannibal had this habit of always commenting on or responding to Will's smiles, either saying how they 'Lit up a room' or 'Put the stars in the sky to shame' or simply smiling back, he never let a 'Will smile' go unnoticed. There was even the odd moment in which he would go off on a rant, waxing poetic about something involving the original Mona Lisa or something.

But now-

Nothing.

He smiled at Hannibal, happy to see him alive and well, albeit quite wet, but he knew with absolute certainty that Hannibal would not have missed a chance to smile back.

His smile vanished as quickly as it appeared.

"What's wrong?"

Hannibal sighed, as if preparing to tell another lie-

"Don't you dare lie to me, not you too."

They stared at each other.

"What do you mean, 'not you too'?" The look on his face was one of concern.

Well, there was no going back now. It was time to tell him about Freddie Lounds.

* * *

If he had to choose one word to describe Freddie, it would be 'big'.

But not big as in she was fat, but big in every other way. Her hair, her personality, her mouth, namely. Freddie Lounds was a reporter who would do anything to get to the truth, or at least her version of it, and she did mean _anything_. Everyone knew that she had been around the block a few times in her hunt for justice, so to speak, but no one dared go into specifics, in fear that she would bad mouth their business or their good name, all with the release of one well written article.

She had power, but she was always wanting more.

Will lived in constant fear that his Alan was her 'more'.

It began a few months ago, when Alan publicly announced the upcoming release of the book he had not yet started to write. Freddie had requested an interview with Alan, in search of more detail to the mysterious book. Will had come to the interview too as moral support, but it had been less of an interview about the book and more of her sticking her big nose into Alan's life story. They talked of his childhood, his education, his degree in psychiatry, heck, they even talked of how he and Will met. Every topic had been hit except that of the book.

Despite how Will found her insufferable and a waste of precious human breathing space, she and Alan had gotten along marvelously. This cursed friendship then led to several dinner nights in which Freddie was invited over, and Will having to excuse himself early each time. Making small talk with ordinary people was already tedious, but with her it was downright torture. She asked questions he only rarely knew the answer to, or asked personal questions he knew the answer to but they both knew he wouldn't dream of telling her, and she was just _loud_ overall. Loud noises made Will jittery and he tended to avoid them, but Alan's insistence with inviting her over made this difficult.

The worst part, however, was the flirting.

Whenever Alan would make a joke, whether it be a cheesy pun or something actually funny, Freddie would laugh her head off, batting her eyelashes when she was done and complimenting something about him. Will may have been anti-social and not attracted to girls, but he was no fool and could tell what was happening.

How Alan was just letting it happen.

He wouldn't encourage the flirting with words and usually laughed it off while neglecting to flirt back, but his body language contradicted this. Will watched, helplessly, as his pupils dilated or his lips parted or how his breath hitched when she flirted with him, and he was sure this didn't go unnoticed by Freddie.

And so, on that night a few weeks ago when Alan had come home extremely late, cheeks flushed red and hair ruffled, he had assumed the worst.

He immediately thought that Alan had cheated on him with the red haired temptress, but Alan had denied having even seen her that night. He claimed to have been bowling with a few of the guys, and when his team had won they had ruffled his usually perfectly styled hair. He would've called, he claimed, but he hadn't known it would take that long.

Will, having no evidence that something else happened, had no choice but to believe him. He only wished he could believe him with all his heart.

He told Hannibal all of this and felt a weight lift off his shoulders. He never had a person he trusted enough to confide in, besides Alan, until now. It felt... good.

When he was done talking he started to pant, as though the weight of his words had left him out of breath. He breathed heavily until it was enough to give him a light heady feeling, calming him down. His friend waited patiently all the while.

"I know all of this sounds stupid but, I don't know. I can't help but worry that he'll cheat on me with her."

"You're not just upset about the potentiality of him cheating, but rather him cheating with her."

Will waited to see where he was going with this.

"Because it would be even worse if he cheated on you with a girl. It would push the knife even deeper to know that Alan not only enjoys strip clubs and a woman's company, but also had an affair with a woman. That he prefers women."

He could feel the back of his eyes heat up and he wanted to tell Hannibal to shut his mouth, but it wasn't as if his words weren't true. The idea that Alan wasn't actually bisexual but just a heterosexual going through an experimental phase lurked over Will's shoulder like a storm cloud threatening acid rain. He was the first man Alan had ever been with, but if it turned out that he didn't love him as much as Will thought he did, it would absolutely destroy him.

He felt a warm hand slide into his own, interlocking their fingers. "It's okay, Will." His voice was as gentle as the thumb slowly rubbing his knuckles. Ordinarily, such contact would have spooked him, but it was like all of his walls didn't work correctly when it came to Hannibal. Will watched it move back and forth, back and forth, back and forth, until the threat of tears receded and was forgotten.

He looked up to meet Hannibal's gaze and saw him finally giving him that smile he had so sought after. He smiled back, just a little, and thought that Alan's inevitable adultery wouldn't destroy him.

And even if it did, he knew, in that moment, that Hannibal would pick up the pieces.

* * *

"Six hundred dollars, Hannibal. Six hundred. That's how much the godforsaken _tie_ costed. But the suit-!"

Bedelia forced herself to do her breathing exercises. This man was not worth the time and energy it took to even reach the level of upset she was fast approaching.

"You treat me like some grandma who loves knitting scarves and mittens and whatever you want in that moment, just so you can get jam on them and ruin them in the wash!"

"Well, you treat me as though I am some child to be scolded." Hannibal did not have time for this.

Bedelia sighed and sat down into her office chair, the fabric of which was imported from Sweden and the stuffing made from the bird feathers of Paraguay.

"Touché."

The fit that Bedelia had thrown upon seeing him in the suit he had picked up just yesterday, now soaked to the bone, was one to be placed on the Richter scale.

"It's not like I need a new suit by tomorrow," he said, wrapped in sheets like a Greek Olympian. She had demanded he got out of those wet clothes immediately, lest he got pneumonia. She could be quite the mother hen sometimes. "I just need a new one before my appointment- sorry, um, _meeting,_ with Will this Thursday, and the sooner the better."

Closing her eyes and placing a hand on her head, she groaned.

Hannibal was in no mood for such drama, so he picked up a magazine and thumbed through it. "You know," he stopped at a page that interested him, entitled _How to Cook the Swine to Perfection_. "Poor William is experiencing some severe trust issues with that Alan imbecile. He thinks he's going to cheat on him."

Her eyes opened with a spark in them. She loved gossip. "I assume you had a hand in placing such a thought in his mind?"

He looked up, his scandalized expression making her laugh ever so slightly. "Me!? Play some part in chipping away at their already eroding relationship?" He paused, lips curling into a smile. "Why, I'm flattered. But unfortunately, this piece of the puzzle was out of my control."

Bedelia sat up straighter, intrigued. "So a seed of doubt has been planted within those lush brown curls. How do you plan to help it flourish?"

Hannibal's ringtone interrupted them, displaying that it was Abigail calling. He smiled. It was as if he and his young ward shared a telepathic connection at most times.

"I'm going to water it, of course."


	7. American BeautyAmerican Psycho

Clubs were never really her thing.

She was seasoned in the art of hunting, though. The patience required in waiting on the prey to expose themselves, the stealth that came with tracking them, and the concentration necessary to make the kill efficient, those were her strong suits.

But night clubs weren't the same thing.

She had found her target soon enough, camera in hand, snooping around the herd of people like the insect she was. Most likely taking pictures of patrons grinding on and dry humping each other, pictures to be exposed to the public at her leisure, in the form of blackmail no doubt.

She sipped her drink and watched.

Her target slipped into the bathroom, unseen by all except her. She grabbed her friend, whom she had paid a hefty amount of money to play her small role in this great production, and dragged her into the bathroom.

Entering the bathroom, she made sure her target was in a stall before saying, "But Cindy, I know Terrance is cheating on me but-"

"You can't honestly be considering taking those pills, Abby!" Her friend interrupted beautifully, just like they had practiced. "Who knows what they can do!"

"I'm going to take them. He said he'll take me back if I do," she popped open the can of pills loudly for dramatic effect, hyper aware of her audience of one. "And there's nothing you can do to stop me."

"Please," came Cindy's choked reply. Her concern sounded authentic and Abigail couldn't help but mentally applaud her for her acting. "Please, don't do this."

"I'll be out back if you want to join me," she reached the door, "but don't try and stop me."

She left her friend, who she knew would break into tears, to go outside. She sat down by a nearby dumpster and waited. During the past week, she had patiently awaited for her target to expose her love of exploiting others, relied on her stealth to seek out the night club she frequented, and all that remained was the concentration of executing her plan to the best of her abilities.

Maybe clubs were her thing.

* * *

It took less than five minutes for Freddie Lounds to find her, hunched over, grasping a near empty bottle of pills, crying her eyes out.

Hannibal would have been proud to see how beautifully she had set the scene.

Abigail pretended not to sense Freddie approach her, for no professional drug user would have been so aware of their surroundings.

Freddie gently touched her shoulder. Abigail screamed and jerked away. Freddie, with a genuine look of understanding, knelt down to meet her eyes.

"Hey, it's okay kid. Really, I get it." The expression on her face was pained, as if she was reliving a past occurrence. Abigail would remember to tell Hannibal such an interesting fact. "Here," she stood up, holding out her hand, "let me help you."

With the hand not clutching the pills, Abigail took her hand. Freddie pulled her up and allowed her to lean on her shoulder as she took her back to her car. Not once did she snap a picture. Abigail was impressed.

* * *

As she had already expected, Freddie was a lot wealthier than she seemed. To the average person, she didn't seem to sit on a lap of luxury, as she consistently melted into crowds, unnoticed despite her mess of red curls. Usually those who had more cash to burn gave off this air of arrogance so pungent that it offended any nose with its pretentious fumes.

Exhibit A: Hannibal.

Freddie, on the other hand, was smarter with her money and dressed more modestly. Good for her. Maybe it worked for her image to be seen as the novice journalist, 'barely getting enough here and there for her next meal so do her a favor and let her interview you,' or maybe she just preferred to not be pampered.

Abigail didn't care, either way.

They arrived to her house eventually, Abigail sobbing all the way. Honestly, she didn't know why she hadn't been offered an acting career yet. As if Hollywood cared about 'mental health' more than natural talent. Such hypocrisy.

"Come on inside," Freddie said, stepping out the car. "I'll make some hot chocolate and help you sober up." She was doing exactly what she had anticipated: trying to cover up the smell of drugs before returning this teen she didn't know back to her parents. Abigail didn't have parents anymore, but she could appreciate the gesture.

Her house looked big on the outside but inside it seemed almost bigger. Everything was overly grandiose and overpriced, from the crystal chandeliers to the marble staircases, it all made her feel wildly out of her comfort zone. She allowed herself to be led to what she assumed to be the living room, but could have easily been a small movie theatre, and sat down on a plush, white couch with Freddie accompanying her. How this woman managed to own so many white couches without a single red hair on any of them was beyond Abigail.

"So, tell me about this Terrance guy." She said it while one finger twisted one of her curls, as if they were two teenage girls swapping gossip about boys.

She expected that question to be first. She could put up an air of concern for her well-being all she wanted to, but the bottom line was that Freddie was a reporter, right down to her very core.

She recited the prepared background story of 'Terrance,' her cheating boyfriend who was also a drug dealer and professional cheating scumbag. She let a tear or two escape every so often, really milking the whole 'wounded victim' role.

"And so," she sniffled, "that's my story." She looked up to Freddie with glossy eyes. "What's yours? Any men in your life?"

Freddie chuckled softly. "Men are pigs, darling, and don't you forget that."

"That wasn't an answer."

Freddie's eyebrows shot up in surprise. This kid was perceptive.

"Well, there's this one guy... But he's taken so I won't even get into that."

Abigail smiled for the first time since meeting Freddie. She knew it was well timed because her target smiled back and her expression softened. "No guy is ever 'taken.' They're merely in between opportunities for sexual pleasure. Guys are constantly playing the Game of Sex™, but sometimes it takes an extra nudge for him to figure out it's his turn to move, and move on."

Freddie's eyes widened. She was beginning to like this kid.

"Allow me to get that hot chocolate I promised, then I'll tell you all about it."

They rose at the same time. "I'll come with you. I'm a little chilly," she said as she rubbed her arms up and down.

She began making the hot drinks and slowly uncoiled the story of her latest love interest, revealing his name to be Alan and lamenting how he was currently in a relationship but going into detail about how her flirtations and advances had been reciprocated.

"Up until last week, that is." She sighed.

She waited patiently for her to go on. A good hunter always refrained from being impatient when their prey was about to expose itself.

"We- we went on this bowling trip together, us and a bunch of these other guys. He picked me first to be on his team and," she smiled, lost in thought, "it had made me so happy."

She put Abigail's cup of cocoa in front of her and took a sip of her own before continuing. "So then, after hours of being neck-n-neck with the other team, Alan made a strike at the last second: winning the game." She took a sip and looked away, suddenly bashful. "And so I kissed him, and he kissed back."

Abigail feigned surprise. She had expected as much, however, otherwise Hannibal wouldn't have been so adamant that she take up this task. "He kissed back!?"

"Yeah he did," she sounded like a young girl, filled with glee and infatuation, "and the strangest part is that he's gay!"

"Doesn't sound gay," Abigail struggled not to frown. It always ticked her off when others mis-gendered people or assumed their sexual orientation, "sounds more like bi, or pan, or-"

"Yeah, whatever! Bottom line is: he's dating a guy, I kissed him, and he kissed me back. Of course, he ended the kiss after a few seconds and has been avoiding me this week but _he kissed back_." She stared into her mug as if it held the answers, "Which means there's hope."

Unrequited love had always made Abigail uncomfortable, and so she excused her to go to the bathroom. It was on the second floor, just as she had hoped. And it was right across from her bedroom, which was the icing on the cake.

The only reason she put up with the mess that was Hannibal was because she had seen him and Will together, and the chemistry there was uncanny. The way they _looked_ at each other, like they had found their purpose for being put on this very Earth, made her heart palpitate and clench. It was rare for a monster like Hannibal to feel so deeply for a person and allow them to get so close without feeling the urge to eat them (she couldn't let Hannibal know that she knew what he really was, but if her father had taught her anything while he was alive it was to know the distinguished taste of human flesh). She could tell by not only the way he forced her to listen to sonnets about Will, that he refused to write down for some reason, but by the way he simply touched him, gently, as if he were touching something precious, that he would destroy anything that got between them.

Even if that thing was himself.

Freddie dropped her off at her 'house,' which was really just a random address within walking distance of Hannibal's. She thanked her for the hot chocolate and the hospitality, promised her that she would never do drugs or go to night clubs until she was of age.

They both knew these were lies, but again, she could appreciate the gesture.

As soon as Freddie drove a good distance away and she could no longer hear the him of her engine, she speed dialed her employer, knowing he was wide awake despite the late hour.

"The robin's nest has been infiltrated," She whispered and began her trek to Hannibal's, "I'm on my way over with the eggs."


	8. The Take Over, The Break's Over

How lucky he was to have such a beautiful daughter.

And that's exactly what Abigail was to him, no matter what any irrelevant 'legal documents' might say. She was his daughter in every way that counted.

And she had done such a good job.

The information she had for him, as well as the souvenirs she had taken from Freddie's bedroom were more than enough, and he definitely had enough art supplies to create a brilliant picture.

A picture so brilliant it would expose the truth so violently it would send Will running, no doubt.

Running right into his arms.

* * *

Not knowing how to break into someone's car was nothing a little YouTube tutorial couldn't fix.

Breaking into a high security garage attached to an even higher security house, however, was another story.

Alan's car was the canvas Hannibal needed to bring his creation to life, but he couldn't run the risk of being caught in the process. And so, a Plan B was in order.

Hannibal and Abigail showed up at Alan's house, Hannibal calling beforehand to alert Will of him dropping by. He hated lying to Will, even if it was for his own good, but he explained how his car was broken down as he had been rescuing Abigail from a pill experimentation episode. Her and Terrance, apparently, had gotten into some wild crap and Abigail had called him, a family friend, to come pick her up. His car had run into some trouble about 5 minutes away and low and behold, there they were. Abigail in dire need of one of her infamous bathroom breaks and Hannibal in need of some company to fill the Will shaped hole in his chest.

It had been a while since they'd had one of their phone calls, as Hannibal had been too busy helping Abigail with the assignment he'd given her. Tracking down someone who dedicated their life to blending in had proven harder than anticipated.

Will opened the door for them, bearing a smile whiter than the light from the moon. He felt himself smile, but it was a disconnected feeling, the rest of his senses were too focused on the beacon of light coming from his mouth.

They were welcomed inside and Hannibal noticed that Alan had not come down, presumably still getting his beauty sleep.

"Why Abigail, I'm glad to finally meet you! Alan has told me so much about-"

"Where's your bathroom?" She was doing the jittery bathroom dance, indicating an emergency.

Will smiled in understanding. He grew up with enough female cousins to understand that women didn't play around when it came to bathroom usage, always going in groups and bringing their purses. It was like they had full blown camping trips in there.

"Go through the kitchen, into the hallway, and take a right."

She nodded her head, whispered a 'thanks' and all but ran in that direction. What Will didn't see was that she actually took a left instead.

"Long time no see, Will." Their sessions being cancelled hadn't stopped them from making plans on Thursdays to 'grab coffee,' but that didn't mean he hadn't missed him with a vengeance. By the way Will was looking at him, he could tell he felt the same way.

"How have you been, Hannibal?" They sat side by side on the couch, knees touching and both pointedly ignoring it.

"Been feeling a bit empty actually, but I feel better now." He hoped his words didn't make Will too uncomfortable, since they were nothing but true.

"I know how you feel," Will said, maintaining eye contact.

Hannibal chuckled. "Because you're an empath."

"No," Will said, without missing a beat.

The silence that followed was comfortable.

* * *

Abigail returned about ten minutes later, not coming from the direction of the bathroom. Fortunately, Will's back was turned and he failed to notice this.

"Well, it looks like we'll need to get going. Thank you for allowing us to stop by at such a late hour."

"But what about your car? How will you get home? I could drive you-"

"No," Hannibal interrupted, a tad too quickly. "I already called someone to come tow it, and I'd rather watch and make sure they don't get a scratch on it."

Will looked more perplexed than suspicious, thankfully, and nodded his head in understanding. "Alright, but promise to call me when you get home, so I can know you're safe."

Hannibal could feel his cheeks heat up, unaccustomed to others bearing witness to the concern Will would sometimes show for him. Even his own daughter wasn't yet deemed worthy to experience such a precious gift Will had given him: the gift of compassion.

"I promise."

And with that they left to begin the long journey back to Hannibal's house, Abigail either boasting about how well of a job she had done or giving him knowing smiles all the while.


	9. Sugar, We're Goin Down

They were going to be late to the movie, per usual.

Alan just _had_ to put enough hairspray in his hair to add his own personal hole to the ozone layer, and the process _had_ to take a half hour each time. _Or else my hair won't have enough volume_ , yeah, whatever.

Will didn't care about their tardiness though, not really, he was just desperate to spend some quality time with his other half, desperate to get the essence of Freddie out of his head and renew some of that waning trust between them.

"We're going to miss the previews."

"They're called _previews_ for a reason, honey. They're not what you actually 'view,' they're what comes before it."

"But if we miss them," he said as he opened the passenger door, "Then we'll miss trailers for our next potential movie and-"

He stopped when he saw the hair.

A dozen, tiny red hairs on the head of the seat, easily overlooked by the average person. But Will wasn't average. Will could _see_.

Alan didn't see his horrified expression as he turned the key in the ignition. "And then what, hmm? What were you saying, darling?"

Will didn't comment on the hair, not yet. He wanted a confession first.

"I was saying, and then we'll have to wade through critic reviews to find our next flick. But it will be fine, we're not far."

He racked his brain for ways to approach the situation as they drove, looking for options that didn't end in a screaming match. They reached a red light and he found he couldn't wait any longer. It was like the color red was torturing him.

"So..." He started, focusing on keeping his voice casual. "Have you ever given Freddie a ride in this car?"

Alan looked over in confusion. "Are you serious? Why would I do that?"

Will looked straight ahead, staring into the red light.

"Where is this coming from? Oh God, did Hannibal give you this idea? If you've been seeing him without me knowing-"

"Answer the question." Will was in no mood for his bullcrap psychological tricks of turning everything back onto him. It was a simple yes or no question, and he expected it to be addressed as such.

Alan sighed in defeat. "Yes, I have. Once."

Will felt as if his heart had been trampled upon. He _knew_ that he had a very real problem with them hanging out, and he just went behind his back and-

"Don't you dare pretend like this is any different than when you went to go pick up Hannibal," he sounded like he was going to cry, "Don't. You. Dare."

He sighed. "I suppose you're right. If I had known that this was what you felt like when Hannibal and I met up I wouldn't have done it."

"Thank you," Alan's voice sounded back under control. "Can we make a pact? I drop all contact with her if you stop seeing Hannibal."

In different circumstances, something as drastic and ridiculous as that would have been non-negotiable. He could barely keep himself together without seeing Hannibal at least once a week, having found himself growing mentally and emotionally dependent on him. He also quite enjoyed their conversations, how they could talk about anything and everything and nothing, all at once.

But if him seeing Hannibal hurt his beloved as much as it hurt to hear that he had given the red haired devil one measly ride, then perhaps an exception was in order.

He'd still have to think about it though.

"And it's not like I'm inviting her over in the dead of night either. You probably thought I was asleep when he came over but I am no fool, Will."

Will had the decency to turn away and blush, ashamed. Alan was right, of course. Will had had no real reason to not have informed him of Hannibal's visit.

"At least I only drove her to the bowling alley, and I didn't even give her a ride back to her-"

"Bowling alley? I thought you went with 'a few of the guys.'" He could feel his face heating up with having been lied to.

"Well that was the original plan, but I ran into her on the way over and I invited her to come and we all had a good time and our team even won and- and-"

He turned to Will, tears threatening to spill over. "And I didn't tell you, because we kissed."

The light finally turned green, but Will could still see red.

* * *

"Willy? C'mon Will you've gotta talk to me at some point."

Will sat there, motionless, for what had seemed like hours but really had been five minutes. They pulled up to another red light.

"Willy, she kissed _me_. You have to believe that I would never cheat on you! Especially not with someone who dresses as cheap as her!"

He wanted oh so desperately to believe that.

"I love you. I love everything about you. It will never happen again, I promise."

Will couldn't think of what to say. It was like he was outside of his body, looking into this strange car with these strange men badly acting out a soap opera. It didn't feel real. He didn't feel the pain he knew he should have felt.

The only pain he felt was in his eyes. He had been staring at the red light for too long. He pulled down the sun visor flap in an attempt to block off his futile staring contest.

A pair of woman's underwear fell out and landed in his lap.

That's when the pain came.

* * *

It started off as a dull roar in the pit of his stomach, a discomfort easily ignored but very much there.

He stared at the panties in his lap. It acted as kindling to fuel the fire.

The pain quickly exploded and spread to the rest of his body, burning his skin and causing a physical ache. This was hurt beyond recognition, beyond comprehension, beyond interpretation.

The teacup had shattered. There was no going back.

Without saying a word he opened the door and stepped out into the middle of traffic. The undergarment was clenched tightly in his hand, simultaneously burning it as if drenched in acid. He slammed the door behind him.

"Will!"

He began walking away from the stench of adultery and betrayal, of lies and deceit. He couldn't bare to look at that pretty face for a moment longer.

"Will! I have no idea how those got there!"

He kept walking. The lies being thrown at him burned his ears. Cars blared their horns at him as he maneuvered around the heavy traffic but he couldn't bring himself to care. Loud noises still made him uneasy, but they didn't sting as much as Alan's _lies_.

"Will!" He got out of the car. If he began to chase him Will promised to start running. "Will, please! Look at me!"

Against his better judgement he turned around, not yet immune to not obeying Alan's requests.

"Will, I did not have sex with her, I have no idea how those got there, and I love _you!_ You and only you! I will never love another soul as much as I love you!"

He was twisting the knife that he had cemented into his back, and his words were exactly what Will wanted to hear. Maybe he should give him another chance? With some couples therapy, perhaps they would be able to move past this-

"You know what?" Alan had caught up with him and was less than a foot away. "I bet I know who did this. I bet _Hannibal_ knows who did this."

No.

 _No_.

Will could handle him not taking responsibility for his actions, but how _dare_ he accuse Hannibal of having done this.

"Alan," his throat was dry and raspy from lack of use and with the threat of crying, "It's over." He never thought he would have to say those words.

The expression on Alan's face was devastatingly shattered. Will turned around and started to walk away. By this point the light was back to green, and cars around them were slowly making their way around the human traffic cones.

Alan grabbed his arm, hard. Will tried to yank it away but Alan's grip was a vice.

"Before you go running off to your mistress, know this: Hannibal's psychiatry license was expired before he started treating you, that's why I ended the sessions. It wasn't an act of jealous rage, it was to protect you."

Will stared in disbelief.

"Why are you just now telling me this?" Cars drove around them, picking up speed and accepting them as human traffic cones. "Oh, let me guess, to protect me!"

Alan loosened his grip. "Will-"

"Well guess what? I don't need you to protect me!" He pulled his arm away from him, freeing himself. The momentum of the action sent him flying and falling back.

Right into the path of a fast approaching car.

"WILL!"

He saw the car, and then he saw black.


	10. Alone Together

He would sooner eat the legs of one of his worst enemies than force them to endure the trials and tribulations of traffic.

He hated traffic that much.

He reached the volume on his radio and cranked the music up. Sweet sounds of Tchaikovsky soothed his ear drums, numbing down any murderous impulses.

The traffic moved along, ever so slowly and steadily, until he could see the cause of such a delay. Ambulances blocked off an entire lane, encircled around what appeared to be a crash. Being nosy came naturally to Hannibal, but those useless, oversized, life-saving mobiles were blocking the view. From the bits he could see, however, he gathered that one man was being put onto a gurney, while the other figure already laid on one, covered up, presumably dead. Why else would he be covered?

The other man being put onto the gurney was covered in blood and so limp he looked boneless, but he couldn't make out any concrete descriptors to save his life. He could only assume that this man was also dead- there was too much blood for any other option. He had made a lot of kills in his life, and from just a glance he could tell how much blood loss was survivable or not.

There was no coming back from this.

But, oh well. It's not like he knew them anyway or particularly cared. And even if he had seen them in passing prior to this, well, they probably got what was coming to them.

He continued his drive back home, not sparing a second thought to the mayhem he had witnessed.

* * *

It was an incredibly rude thing to be late, and Will was well aware of how Hannibal abhorred _rudeness_.

Hannibal had been waiting, with as much patience as he could muster, in the cafe for-

How long had it been?

He checked his watch. Forty-eight minutes. That was almost a full hour. Will showed up _early_ to his regularly scheduled appointments, and he apologized profusely for being five minutes late to their unauthorized 'brunches,' so what was holding him up? He would've called earlier if it hadn't been for the threat of Alan picking up his phone instead, as he didn't want to deal with that particular bundle of crazy at present. He also hadn't called because he was too engrossed in the novel he brought with him, but now Will's absence demanded his full attention.

He quickly pressed his name on his list of contacts.

It went straight to voicemail.

Which was odd, because he knew all of Will's ticks, nuances, and mannerisms, and he knew for a fact that charging his phone before he left the house was something he was OCD about.

He tried calling again, only to get the same outcome.

Growing desperate now to see why Will was ignoring him and sending him straight to voicemail (because that had to be the case- Will's phone never died) he clicked Alan's name in his contacts, after wondering for a few seconds why he had his number in the first place. It rang a few times before a woman's voice answered.

"Baltimore State Hospital, this is Cathy speaking. How may I help you?"

Hannibal's stomach dropped, but he regained his calm when he realized that it had been Alan's number he dialed and not Will's. The theatre nut probably tripped on his ego and stubbed his toe or something.

"I'm looking for a man named Will Graham, is he visiting Alan?"

"One moment please." She had a sing songy voice such as one would use on kindergarteners. Hannibal liked listening to it. He heard the rummaging of papers for a while before she spoke again.

"Patient Alan Bloom has no visitors presently and is in no condition to take phone calls. Would you like me to contact his nurse for you? Would you like his room number?"

This woman actually thought he gave half a care about Alan's condition. How sweet of her. In his eyes, that's what he got for ruining Hannibal's suit: fabric imported straight from Norway.

"No, that won't be necessary. But if you do run into Will Graham, please tell him to give his doctor a call."

"Sure thing!" He heard the tick tacking of her typing on a keyboard. "Will Graham you say? That name sounds familiar... Oh! Hold on, I'm getting another call. It will only take a minute."

A steady stream of saxophone notes filled the line. He was being put on hold. Nobody put Hannibal Lecter on hold.

He would've hung up the phone immediately, on principle, if he wasn't so astonished at how willingly and often rude people were employed at important facilities. What had her name been? Cathy? He envisioned her with petite fingers, high cheekbones, blonde hair and brown eyes. In his mind she had good cardio. A runner. He hadn't had one of those in a while, and those small fingers would go beautifully in a broth-

"Back!"

She interrupted his thoughts, probably inadvertently saving her own life.

"I found out where I've heard that name before. Will Graham _is_ in room 228 with Alan Bloom. He's a patient here."

He suddenly didn't like her voice anymore.

* * *

The police in this town were so incompetent at their jobs, honestly. He could understand how they'd be unable to catch the Chesapeake Ripper for so long, as Hannibal was top notch at what he did; he could reason why the Tooth Fairy- the murderer Will most recently empathized with, as they so called him- was not in custody because that young man was no rookie to the game; but really, he couldn't quite comprehend how no one stopped him from going 75 in nothing but 40 mph lanes.

He sped all the way to the hospital, only sometimes stopping at red lights and he hadn't gotten so much as a honked horn of irritation directed towards him. He didn't know whether to cry from joy or frustration that such a large amount of people could be so useless at very important jobs.

But in reality, he was simply distracting himself.

He needed to focus on the stupidity of others to keep from dwelling on his poor Will, his sweet, sweet lamb, all alone in that big, cold hospital with who knows how many injuries. Of course, he wasn't alone. He was with Alan, which was _worse_.

He made it to the hospital in such record time NASCAR should've been waiting at the door with a contract for him. He flew in through the doors and didn't bother to check in with the receptionist at the desk, even as she called after him.

Not today Cathy, not today.

He got on The Longest Elevator Ride In Existence until he reached Will's floor. His eyes scanned the room numbers as he passed by them, looking for the right one. He stopped in front of a random room before he even saw the number, knowing instantly that it was the right room on some subconscious level.

He opened the door, slowly, and peered inside.

"Oh my God."

Will's face was swollen in odd places, like his nose and left cheek and his right eye brow, his face was scratched everywhere and both legs were encased in casts, suspended by some pulley system. His torso was wrapped in white bandages that were tinted brown in some places, in need of changing. He lay sprawled on the bed haphazardly, as if he had been moving wildly in his sleep. There were several tubes jutting out of him from several different places, most were filled with a clear substance, while one or two had a red one. He most likely had needed a major blood transfusion.

Hannibal's mind went back to the horrific accident he had seen earlier.

Then his mind went back to Will.

The accident.

Will.

But it couldn't be. Those victims had been in critical condition if not already dead. He had been a surgeon for so long he knew when it was time to call it quits, and from what he had seen of the accident, to even suggest that life was salvageable would have been laughable. A rookie's mistake.

And yet.

Here they were, both of them. Alan was adjacent to Will's bed, but there was a divider curtain. Both of them were still asleep, or at least, what looked to be sleep. The only way Hannibal could tell they weren't dead was from the vitals the computer screen showed. They were both barely alive but- they were alive.

Hannibal was not a very religious man (it was hard to be in his line of work) but he knew a miracle when he saw one. Will had been saved (unfortunately it had been a two for one deal) and returned to him. He would heal soon and, assuming that he had already found the ladies' under garment he had Abigail place wherever her heart desired, he would soon be out of Alan's hair and into his own, so to speak.

All he had to do was wait.

Will would soon be his, free for him to do with him as he so pleased.

"You can't be in here."

He glanced over his shoulder to see a doctor, fully equipped with the white jacket, stethoscope, arms crossed defiantly, and an expression of disapproval. He didn't bother to respond and instead walked over to Will and took his hand. He interlocked their fingers, and squeezed.

Will would soon be his.

The thought excited him. It pleased him so much that he vowed to come and wait at this hospital everyday (even if it meant signing in) and waiting until his Sleeping Beauty awoke for him. Or perhaps, maybe his dear Will had eluded death and was sent to him because it was Hannibal's duty to rid him of his life. If that was the case, he had the perfect plan on how he would go about it, which parts he would eat first, which parts he would savor. Not an inch of him would be wasted, that's for sure. He could even use his soft hair for pillow stuffing if it came down to it. But really, the outcome all depended on if Will rejected him or not.

He'd just have to wait and see.

* * *

 _He pulled the trigger, again and again, until the noise stopped._

 _It was something about this family that had been most peculiar indeed. The father had made low sound vibrations, guttural sounds rumbling right off the chest, commanding attention. The mother had a lighter sound, full of grace and good will, a high pitched sparrow's song. The twin boys, now, that had been different- identical twins but with slightly different sounds. The first one's sound had sounded, for lack of a better word, sticky. It stuck to one's eardrums and reverberated annoyingly, while the other's sound was thick, yet gentle. Their sounds came together like syrup and cream._

 _All of these sounds were unique, in their own way._

 _But to him, it was all just noise._

 _That's why he had to end it, had to end them. He was doing the world a great service. This family of four he had watched for weeks made the same noises the last family had made. Both families released sounds that couldn't be described as words, and nobody seemed to notice but him. These people were demons, incapable of human communication, and he knew it was his job to exterminate them._

 _And so he did, but with dignity of course._

 _There was method to his is madness, despite what the tabloids said. He had rules. He made sure everyone was present before he gave them his gift of a merciful death. He wasn't keen on tearing families apart, and he have just had to kill himself if he were to send the children to the orphanage, like him as a child. They were always families of four and the work was always done on a full moon, the reason for which he'd rather not think about presently. He always woke the family up beforehand: he wasn't one to favor the element of surprise right down to the minute details. He wanted to give them a fair chance of retaliation._

 _Always,_ always _, the family tried to speak with him. He never bothered responding, he didn't want to confuse them. If he responded and talked to them, they may have made the mistake to think they were human, that their deaths weren't justified._

 _He never could make out what they were saying, anyway._

 _After the work was done and all was quiet, he made sure that everyone got their new eyes. This part was_ crucial _. Seeing that they were demons and they made the mistake of coming down to Earth, trying to pass as a normal family of four, he needed to make sure that their souls didn't try to escape and flee into new bodies. The mirrors had the power to reflect whatever was inside and keep it inside._

 _As they say, eyes are the windows to the soul._

 _But he was never fast enough. No matter how completely he covered their eye sockets with shards of mirrors, they ended up escaping and possessing four new hosts. He didn't want to start the whole process over again, but he had to._

 _It was his duty._

* * *

 _Now he was running, trying and failing, stumbling and falling, yet getting back up and still running. He was running from-_

 _What it was exactly, he couldn't be sure. But he knew that it was following him. He looked over his shoulder to see the thing walking, but how could it be walking? It was keeping pace with him and he was near sprinting._

 _He looked over his shoulder again to get a good look at the thing, a really good look. It was taller than him by about a foot or so, and that wasn't even counting the antlers protruding from its head. It had the build of a man but was not human in the least. Its entire being was ebony, a black so deep that it came off as glossy in some parts._

 _A black so absolute it could swallow you whole._

 _Its hands- if you could call them that- were more like claws, each finger had long, bent talons. This beast was a thing of nightmares, but this felt all to real._

 _He kept running, pushing himself to go faster. Every time he looked over his shoulder, the monster was still the same distance behind him, still_ walking _as if on a Sunday leisure stroll._

 _He must've looked at it a bit too long this time because he fell, and fell hard, not having seen the log he tripped on before it was too late. He pushed himself to get up but only managed to send him tumbling down the hill behind the log, hitting everything in his path as he rolled and yet still gained momentum._

 _He finally stopped rolling when he hit a tree. He was on his back but couldn't feel nor move any part of his body. He couldn't even tilt his head to see how far that thing was from him. But it was no matter, for the thing was looming over his immobile form within seconds. He looked up at its face. It had no eyes. Or if it did have eyes, its eyes were as black as the rest of its body. Slowly, it bent down and moved one of its arms, claw spread open and going right for his chest._

 _Strangely enough, he wasn't afraid. Maybe he had already accepted the warm invitation of death but for some reason, this didn't feel like death. He felt more safe than anything._

 _He watched as the thing's sharp nails receded back into its boney hand, leaving it talonless and non-threatening. He watched, helplessly, as its hand grabbed his own. He suddenly could feel his hand again, though the rest of his body remain uncooperative._

 _The thing gently interlocked their fingers together, and squeezed._

* * *

He would go everyday at noon.

Suitcase full of snacks, a change of clothes, and a book or two of Lithuanian fairy tales, he would visit Will at the hospital, everyday at noon.

Of course, Will would be unconscious during these visits, and visiting Will also meant visiting Alan, but this couldn't be helped.

Will being unresponsive had its perks, though. He was unable to voice protest to any hand holding or complain that all the stories he read were in his native tongue. Every so often, after a particularly good story, Hannibal would get the impulse to lay a small kiss on the back of his hand, and he often did so because no one could stop him. However, he never laid a kiss on the lips of his beloved or took advantage; he may have been a serial killer but he was no rapist, and consent was everything.

But speaking of killing in a serial fashion, the first doctor Will had should've been more careful about who he blabbed Will's business to. On this third day of visiting, the good doctor had told him that the only reason Will was alive was because the man he came in with had shielded him with his body, absorbing most of the impact and baffling the rest of the doctors on how he survived.

 _Not for long_ , Hannibal hadn't said, but wanted oh so desperately to.

This doctor with his big mouth had to be taken care of, naturally. It would've been a true catastrophe if Will were to be informed of how truly devoted Alan was to him.

Hannibal couldn't have that.

But what he _could_ have was a charming chowder, and so he did. And if that happened to be on the same day the old doctor went missing-

Well.

But in good news, the new doctor was competent and didn't comment on how frequently he visited, so he was terrific in his book.

He finished the story he was reading and took Will's hand once more. He squeezed it. He didn't know what he was expecting to happen, but it felt like the proper thing to do. He'd done this a million times, but had never gotten a reaction from Will's comatose body.

Until now.

When he squeezed his hand, Will's vitals started to jump, his heart rate increasing dramatically and everything else following suit. This sudden change worried Hannibal, but he was too intrigued to see what was about to happen that he didn't call the nurse to come in and ruin all the fun. The beeps from the monitor continued and grew faster and higher pitched all the while.

Will's eyes flew open. They flittered around the room aimlessly before landing on Hannibal, sitting in the chair to the right of him.

"Hello, Dr. Lecter."


	11. I've Got All This Ringing in My Ears

He was somewhere between elated and disappointed.

Elated because Will had woken up right after _he_ had touched him, and his first words had been _his_ name.

Disappointed because Will hadn't referred to him as 'Dr. Lecter' since the very first time they had met. Had he lost some of his memory? The notion wasn't impossible, and fairly common for survivors of car crashes.

"Hello, Will. How much do you remember?" Depending on how much he did remember, maybe he could spin the story so that he and Will were already a couple. Save a little time and energy for the both of them.

"I remember you, so you can stop freaking out," he said and Hannibal visibly relaxed, "and I remember everything else. Fighting with Alan after the underwear fell from the sun visor, fighting with him in the middle of traffic, getting run over by a car. Not just hit: run over. And that... really hurt." He closed his eyes and furrowed his brow, as if reliving the pain.

 _Underwear falling from the sun visor, hmm?_ Pride swelled in his chest for his daughter's creativity. C _lever girl_.

His eyes opened again, his head turning left and right in a way that would have been seen as 'frantic' if he was able to move his head faster. "Where's Alan?"

He had a slight slur to his words, and Hannibal hoped beyond hope that no permanent damage had been done to his sweet, empathetic brain.

"Alan's behind the curtain. He's still unconscious." Hannibal had yet to release their interlocked hands but Will hadn't commented. He wondered if he even had feeling in the rest of his body yet since all he had moved so far was his head.

Will's eyes widened. "He got hit too? Oh my God, is he okay? What happened?"

"The same car that hit you hit him too. He's in a coma presently but seems to be recovering quickly." He was proud of himself for not lying, and it wasn't like the detail he had left out of Alan saving his life was _that_ important.

Will closed his eyes and grimaced. He looked like a puppy who was woken up too early from a nap.

"What are you doing here, Dr. Lecter?" His insistence with formalities began to be worrying.

"I was concerned for your health and well-being, of course."

"How long have I been here?"

"About two weeks. Don't worry, I personally sought to it that someone fed your dogs."

"Thank you. How many times have you visited?"

He contemplated lying. His eyes were still closed and he probably wouldn't be able to tell if he was lying this time. "Everyday for those two weeks." He didn't want to risk it.

His eyes opened again, his expression exasperated. "And what of all your other patients? When did you reschedule their appointments?"

Well. So no brain damage then. That little runt had bypassed going to the police and went straight to outing him to Will, which was significantly worse. He knew that what he said in the next few minutes would either make or break the trust between them. He squeezed his hand once more, and Will's lack of reaction convinced him that he still did not have feeling in the rest of his body.

"There are no other patients."

He looked surprised, but Hannibal knew it wasn't from the lack of patients but rather the fact that he had told the truth. "And why is that, Dr. Lecter?"

Each 'Dr. Lecter' shot a sharp pain up his spine. "There are no other patients because my license was suspended for unorthodox psychiatry. I used methods such as hypnotism, injection of hallucinogens, flashing light therapy, and several others I'm not at liberty to mention, but it was all for the benefit of the patient."

Will stared at him with his mouth agape. Maybe he shouldn't have gone into detail, but telling the truth was an odd thing. It was like putting a small crack in a dam: you only need enough water to fill up a cup, but you're a fool if you think that crack will not grow and rupture.

"Will, I never used any unconventional methods on you, I promise."

Will closed his mouth and steeled his expression. "Get out."

He had never seen him so angry, so full of hatred and malicious intent. His stony expression was enough to make him uneasy and yet arouse him all the same.

"Will, I am terribly sorry about not telling you sooner."

He shook his head, his expression as pained as it was when he was reliving getting run over. "I can't be friends with someone I can't trust, and I fear that I don't know everything about you. If you can't tell me everything, I don't want to know anything. Please, get out."

He rose from his chair. He was about to take his leave and appease his friend when a thought struck him.

He wanted to know everything.

Of course, poor Will didn't know what 'everything' entailed when he made the request, but Hannibal couldn't afford to lose him just yet. He never got a chance to see him empathize with him, see him examine one of his murders, crawl around in his brain and set up camp. He was a half finished experiment, and all he needed was more time. More time, and the truth.

Without even fully making a decision, he slowly leaned down until he was an inch away from his ear. He whispered to him, and told him the truth.

It took longer than he had anticipated, as he tried to leave out no details, but after a minute or so he withdrew. He looked down to Will, eyes wide and still, resembling the likeness of an actual corpse more than anything else. He leaned down once more, slowly, and planted a kiss in the midst of his soft hair. Before the action could merit a reaction, he quickly turned on his heel and left, angry with himself for having exposed so much.

* * *

When he first received the flower, he didn't know what to do. What does one do with a flower? Plant it? Put it up on the wall? Smell it until it dies?

Luckily for him, the nurse had brought him a cup of water and put the flower in it, plucking it from his hand after seeing his quizzical expression.

"A flower and a note? Ooooh, looks like someone has a secret admirer!" She loved teasing him, be it about his hair or the assistance he needed to use the bathroom, she teased him every chance she got. If Will didn't know better, he would swear he was back in third grade, girls ruthlessly teasing him to express how they fancied him.

But the note- he hadn't even read it yet.

He picked up the envelope and hesitated before ripping it open, already quite aware of who it was from. He only knew one person pretentious enough to seal a letter with an actual wax stamp. He sighed and opened it up anyway, curious as to what its contents were. He hadn't spoken to Hannibal in what had to have been a week by now, and he hoped that this letter would explain at least a little of the lies he had told him.

 _Dear Will,_

 _I would say I regret having exposed to you my inner most secret, but I will not say such a thing, for I have sworn not to lie to you ever again. I would not like for you to see this letter as an apology, for that would suggest I have wronged you in some way. I have not. Merely I have awakened you, but there still is a lot more waking up to do, for the both of us._

 _-Hannibal_

He stared at the letter, re-reading it again and again, trying to filter out a hidden meaning or message of some kind and finding none. The odd and slightly ominous note baffled him, but when he thought about it, an apology from someone as arrogant as Hannibal should have been the last thing he expected.

But what was this? A warning? There was something foreboding about the words that he didn't like, despite how pretty the flower that accompanied it was. It was purple and lovely and really contradicted his words in every way, but maybe that was the point? Maybe it was a riddle of sorts.

But Will was in no mood for games. He wanted answers.

He pressed the button that called his nurse into his room. What was her name? Becky? Beth? He was forgetting details like that left and right, and this memory loss worried him. And it wasn't just memory loss, either. At times he felt as though new memories were taking residence in his mind, visions of death and murder and the thrill of it all. He could only remember bits and pieces, but he could remember enough to be unsure whether or not these thoughts were his.

"Yes, Mr. Graham?" She had that clipped tone again, the one she always got when she was annoyed and trying not to show it. Basically every time he, one of her patients in almost critical condition, buzzed for her (which really wasn't even that often).

"Could you please make sure I don't receive any more mail or... flowers? Could you tell whoever handles the mail to mark them as 'Return to sender'?"

She plastered on her widest and fakest smile. "Absolutely, I can totally do that."

As she essentially stomped out of the room, Will couldn't help but think of what Hannibal's snarky commentary would've been in regards to her rudeness.

* * *

He couldn't help but kill more; what else was he to do?

There was only so much that going to his cafe could do for him, only so much contentment Bedelia and playing the violin could bring him.

Even Abigail couldn't brighten his spirits.

And so, he hunted.

It was a rather amusing pastime, really. He tried things he never thought to try before. He subjected some victims to a slow, torturous death instead of killing them promptly, like he normally would. With others he'd rip out non-essential organs to eat in front of them while they watched, savoring the taste of the raw meat and reveling in the stark horror that painted their faces before they passed out. These new, more sadistic methods of murder were enough to distract him for a few hours at a time, before the inevitable heartache set in again.

Killing, to him, was akin to smoking marijuana; the high only lasted so long.

And when the highs did wear off, his crashes were monumental.

He found himself destroying things in fits of rage. Small things at first, like ant hills or eggs he encountered in birds' nests, little insignificant things like that. But then he was destroying his own possessions when he wasn't destroying lives, burning random books from his library, smashing antique sculptures, completely trashing his house at times and waiting several days before tidying it up again.

He even grew stubble. He was a mess.

Bedelia had commented on his out of sorts behavior just once, and that was enough to make him stop seeing her. The only thing worse than becoming something grotesque was having others point it out to you.

But not all of his actions were violent, he still had some class.

In his attempt to fill the hole in his chest, he sought out new pastimes and hobbies. Cooking food had done it for him for so long, he realized that his expertise in other areas was sufficiently lacking.

He tried building ships in bottles, but found the patience required insufferable.

He tried playing new instruments, but found he mastered all of them too quickly.

He tried painting, but found himself painting nothing but curly hair, grey eyes, and thin lips.

He tried fishing, just once, and found himself immediately spiraling into a killing spree afterwards, defeating the purpose.

No matter what he tried, he couldn't help but be reminded of thoughts of Will, helpless, all alone in the hospital, no one in a five mile radius truly able to understand him. He probably had serial killers dancing around in his head that he didn't know what to do with, visions of past murderers he once empathized with, their origins unknown ever since the crash left him mildly scatterbrained. It had been at least a month and he hadn't dared visit him again since that day, and he could only hope that Alan hadn't awoken with the agenda of speaking of 'not knowing how those panties got there' or 'by the way the only reason you're alive is because of me.'

He couldn't shake the urge to kill, and he couldn't shake his thoughts of Will. He felt trapped, backed into a corner that only had one outcome since Will had rejected him. Rejected him after knowing who he was behind the veil, which was worse.

He sighed as he clipped yet another flower from a random person's garden. It was the one he had been looking for most recently, the perfect one to express what he feared his words could not. He got into his car and drove to the secluded house, hoping beyond hope that the dogs hadn't messed with the accumulating pile.

* * *

There was always something discriminatory about cab drivers. Maybe this was a good thing, maybe it wasn't, but as Will flagged one down after finally being released from the hospital, he had a sneaking suspicion that he had only gotten one so quickly because of his crutches. When he told the driver he needed to be driven all the way up to his home in Wolf Trap and the driver hadn't batted an eye, he knew it for sure. There was definite favoritism shown towards handicapped people, but he couldn't find it in himself to be offended since it had played out in his favor.

The trip to his house took about a half hour on a good day- it was completely secluded from most civilization. His closest neighbor was ten minutes away (a sweet old lady that he had asked to feed his dogs, who assured him that someone was already taking care of them already) and this was just the way he liked it. Alan never realized how much he was truly giving up when he spent the night or the week at his house, and Will couldn't help but be relieved it was over between them. He needed his solitude to find his sanity again when it left him, which was more often than he was comfortable admitting.

He missed his house, he missed his remote location, and he missed his dogs, more than anything. As soon as he got home he was going to be sure that they all spent a nice, well needed day at the park, crutches or no crutches.

They finally arrived at his house and he left the cab driver a hefty tip, feeling bad for how long the trip back would be for him. He got out on his crutches and began the uneasy trek to his front door.

He stopped when he saw the pile of letters on his porch, surrounded by dozens of flowers. All the assortment needed was a picture of him and some lit candles, and it would've been a shrine.

"You gotta be kidding me."

He continued his way over, pace slowed, until he got to his porch. He gently scooted the gifts over with the foot that wasn't broken and unlocked the door to his house. He pushed the door open just a fraction, not wanting his dogs to come out yet and trample the fragile offerings. He looked back down at the dozen letters and flowers, already resting in flower vases.

He smiled down at them, unaware that hidden in the trees a few yards away, he was being watched.


	12. I Don't Care

He couldn't wrap his head around why this one was so important to him. In his personal opinion, this one was quite _ordinary,_ and dreadfully so.

He watched as he stumbled around his house, rendered almost immobile without those metallic stick things under each armpit. He watched as he interacted with the several small beasts he kept in and around his house, seemingly serving no purpose as they never brought him food to cook or wood to burn. He watched as he brought each one of the letters into his house, bringing in only one per day.

This human was so boring, he couldn't understand why he had been chosen.

But he watched him, nonetheless.

He needed to study this human, learn his pattern in order to pinpoint his weak points. He needed an opportunity when he was alone, away from those terrible beasts and vulnerable enough so that he could begin his work.

This whole thing went against his normal policy in so many ways. Went against his _rules_.

For instance, this human didn't make noise, he made _words_.

He never planned harm upon those that were human like him, that's where he drew the line. But if his idol saw something special in this vulnerable, scruffy hermit, he really needed to capture and study it, see what made it tick.

* * *

What an interesting man Hannibal was. Cowardly, arrogant, pride ridden and pretentious, yet interesting all the while.

Will eyed the stack up and down. He had read all of the letters, most of them twice, and sniffed all of the flowers. The letters weren't threatening, per se, but they weren't non-threatening, if that made sense. The way they were worded made him more uneasy with each new letter, but they never flat out said 'I'm going to kill you,' though that's what it felt like.

He couldn't tell what Hannibal's motivation was, what his ultimate goal was, or what he was even getting out of all this. And why the flowers? What kind of twisted mind game was it to send such ambiguous threats accompanied with a different flower each time? And why a different flower? He needed to get to the bottom of this. He saw no pattern that would indicate any secret messages in his words but-

Maybe the message wasn't in his words.

He reached over, careful not to knock any flowers over, and grabbed his laptop. He turned it on and quickly Googled 'flower meanings' before lining the flowers up in the order he got them, starting with the first one from the hospital.

After a bit of searching, he finally found a flower to match the one he had, which happened to be his favorite. He loved the pattern of the petals and the color, and something about its fragrance made him smile. He didn't have a favorite flower, never really paid attention to them until now, but if he did, this would definitely be it.

It turned out to be a purple 'Hyacinth'. He skimmed over its name origin and where it grew in the wild until he found what the flower symbolized: 'I Am Sorry,' 'Please Forgive Me,' and in some cases, 'Sorrow.'

Will frowned. He had initially thought that the flowers contradicted his letters because of how beautiful they were in comparison to his murky words, but now that he knew the meaning behind this particular flower and recalled explicitly reading in the letter that he was not apologizing, he was rightly confused now.

He looked at the next flower, a blooming white flower with pink splashed on the center, sprinkled with black dots. He discovered it was called an 'Alstroemeria,' and that it meant 'friendship.' Well, that was quite interesting because he was sure the letter that went with it was one that belittled the extent of their friendship, labeling them nothing more than 'acquaintances.' He was beginning to notice a pattern here. Eagerly, he looked up the rest of the flowers.

The 'Amaryllis' came with a letter that basically pointed out that his 'pretty face' was a veil to hide the ' true darkness within him', and a quick search of the flower showed that it symbolized 'worth beyond beauty.' The 'Gardenia,' apparently, 'tells the receiver they are lovely', while the 'Gladiolus' points out the 'strength of character'.

Next came the carnations, and he wasn't sure if he wanted to go on.

The white 'Carnation' meant 'pure love; innocence,' and the letter that went with it described when they first met. The next letter recalled the first crime scene he invited Hannibal to, and the red 'Carnation' that went with it meant 'love; pride; admiration'.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to, but he forced himself to go on. The 'Aster' meant 'patience' and the white 'Heather' meant 'protection', but he hesitated when he got to another yellow 'Carnation.' He didn't know if Hannibal was proclaiming his undying love for him or if he was just reading too much into this or what, but he knew for sure that if that was the case, he wouldn't want it done through flowers. Too much room for error- what if the flowers had died before he came back? What if his dogs had eaten them? He would have to ask him later how he had gotten his dogs to bypass messing with the pile for so long, but that was to be addressed at a later time.

He scrolled down until he found yellow 'Carnation' and found that it meant-

Oh.

It meant 'rejection; disappointment'. Whatever Hannibal was trying to tell or ask him, he obviously took his lack of response as a rejection. He didn't know how to feel about this, for he wasn't sure what the question had been in the first place.

One of his dogs nudged him the leg, requesting to be petted. He smiled and ruffled his ears. He needed to remember to thank Hannibal later for getting someone to take care of his dogs.

He took in a deep breath and reached for the most recent letter. This one had been one of the most ominous ones, and it made him uneasy as he reread it:

 _Dear Will,_

 _We have all found a new life, but our old lives hover in the shadows. Soon enough I fear Jack Crawford will come knocking. I would encourage you, as a friend, not to step back through the door he holds open. It's dark on the other side, and madness is waiting._

 _-Hannibal_

The last words echoed in his head. _Madness is waiting._ He wondered what Hannibal knew that he didn't as he searched for a match for the flower that went with the note.

He cringed when he found the meaning.

'Anemone: anticipation.'

* * *

He couldn't understand what was wrong with him.

Over the past few weeks, he couldn't stop having thoughts of Will, incongruous thoughts that fit in with his malicious mind as a sponge would among rocks. He would catch himself daydreaming about running his fingers through his curly, unruly hair, kissing his neck hard enough to leave a mark and then gently enough to make up for any damage, or hugging him tightly, inhaling his scent deeply enough to absorb his essence into his very being.

Once, while thoughts of Will's smile and pristine white teeth plagued his mind, his lack of concentration made him burn his roasted duck with a raspberry glaze.

He had only soiled a dish once because of such distractions, but once was one time too many.

After this incident, he began to combat these fluffy feelings with razor sharp thoughts of gruesomely harming Will, allowing his mindset to remain neutral with the bad cancelling out the good. He thought of pulling Will's hair clean out of his scalp, biting into his neck hard enough to rip out a chunk, lapping up the blood from the ruptured jugular vein, or simply hugging him, squeezing him so tightly that he systematically breaks each and every one of his ribs, puncturing vital internal organs.

These thoughts were more rational to him. Pain made sense.

He decided to himself before he delivered the final letter that it was time for Will to start making sense, and he knew exactly how to remedy the situation.

* * *

Like clockwork, Jack called him the next day.

This time, however, he didn't hesitate before saying 'yes.'

If Hannibal didn't want him helping Jack investigate whatever it was he was looking into, then that was all the more reason to help. He had burned all of the letters in a fit of rage earlier that day, but Will still needed to figure out the reason for the game Hannibal was playing with him. He felt like he was trapped in a dance that he knew none of the moves to.

Jack provided him a ride to the crime scene, a well known park that was now closed off due to circumstances. He stepped foot out of the car and winced in pain. He didn't need crutches for his foot anymore, but that didn't mean it stopped hurting.

Jack immediately commanded the attention of all the forensics agents, once again in his natural element of power. Left and right he demanded to know of any new and substantial evidence that had been found. So far the killer had left virtually no evidence to tie the crime to anyone on record and they had yet to find enough to even form a profile. Whoever it was had been methodical in their planning, surgical in their movements and had left nothing up to chance.

He was informed of the name of the victim. It surprised him how hard he had to force himself to suppress a smile in response.

Will took a step towards the body, trying to make sense of what he was seeing.

It was supported on a tri-stand, as a painting would rest on a canvas, and he supposed that was intentional. The soul that had once inhabited the body was irrelevant, as all he had needed was the material to do his work.

An artist doesn't lament about all of the plants that died in order to add pigment to the paint, an artist simply paints.

The body was blood stained red and horribly disfigured, seemingly bent and twisted in various ways, as if it were a piece of paper. Appendages such as the arms and legs were gone, and the body itself was twisted in a way to resemble, if he wasn't mistaken, an anatomically correct human heart. A heart, broken and bent out of shape to the point where it was still recognizable, but the pain laced there was evident. Knowing that the killer was heartbroken made it easier for Will to empathize with him without completely losing himself, as he could relate.

And just like that, everyone else disappeared.

* * *

 _He waited in the shadows, patiently, as was his custom. He was many things but 'impatient' was not one of them._

 _He knew she would be making a trip out here soon. She always took the back alleyway when exiting this particular nightclub. Or at least, she had taken the back every time he had tailed her over the past week. He highly doubted that she would choose now to break pattern; humans were utterly predictable, and this would soon be their downfall._

 _As expected, she took her leave. Unaccompanied and unaware of anyone watching her._

 _He made his move._

 _He pulled out the piece of wire that sat heavily in his pocket. Moving with the grace of a tiger stalking an antelope, he twirled the wire around her thin neck. He pulled, tightly, and the process of asphyxiation began._

 _She fought back of course, but he was prepared. His plastic suit covered his whole body, and he was confident that no hairs would be left as evidence, nor would she be able to get any of his DNA under her nails as she scratched at him fruitlessly. The game of playing with his food grew boring after a few more seconds, so he took it upon himself to end her suffering._

 _He promptly snapped her neck and watched as her body crumpled to the ground._

 _He delicately placed the body in his waiting car, fully confident there would be no witnesses. He drove to his sacred area, the area in which he brought his masterpieces to life. Several thoughts floated aimlessly around his head, each one begging for attention. But none of them came near to the level of importance as the thought in the forefront of his mind, the driving force behind this particular act of violence._

 _He was making a gift for his beloved._

 _Thoughts of his muse happily hummed around in his mind as he sprawled out the body and went over his plan. Gently, he picked up a limb, only to viciously snap it in half. He did the same to another limb and carefully folded these pieces together, concentrating intensely._

 _He continued this slow process until almost all of the bones were broken and his work was almost complete. Each bone he snapped echoed beautifully the pain he felt he had already been through, each twist merely a mimicry of his own veins twisting._

 _He hoped that when his work was finally put on display, his beloved would be able to read his intentions as clearly as a musician would read sheet music. He hoped the guilt ridden pain would come first, of course, as it was only fair to try and give a generous helping of what he already had to endure, day in and day out. But he also hoped that his beloved would understand the piece, examine it and realize how much genuine affection was being infused with each broken bone, every slice of flesh, every torn artery. To know that his offering was merely a blunt instrument that he was building from scratch in their honor, but tuning such an instrument required assistance if it was truly going to make music._

 _He hoped that his beloved wouldn't merely look at the piece, but_ see.

* * *

Will's eyes shot open. He gasped for breath and wiped the sweat off his forehead.

"Will?" It sounded like Jack's voice, but he couldn't pinpoint where it was coming from. "Will, are you alright?"

Suddenly very off balance, he wobbled side to side before completely falling to the ground. He sputtered and gasped as if he were choking.

"This is my design," he whispered.

He surrendered to the tide pulling him under.

* * *

When he awoke the first thing he saw was the sunset. Or was it the sunrise? He didn't remember going to sleep. How long had he been sleeping?

He sat up and immediately regretted his decision. White hot pain shot through his head so quickly he hissed before shutting his eyes tight and bringing his hand up to cover them, gently massaging his temple.

Glimpses of fresh nightmares skirted past his vision, filled with promises of death without the peace of rest after. He only remembered bits and pieces of these dreams.

There had been one he remembered having while in the hospital, the one with the giant, pitch black creature with the antlers that reeked of a slow death but gave off waves of grace and elegance at the same time. He always ran from the nightmare creature, for even in dreams he had a survival instinct, but the terror always, always caught up with him. And when it did, and this he still didn't understand, the monster never hurt him. It either squeezed his hand or ruffled his hair or stroked his cheek or unashamedly inhaled his scent. But never did it harm him. The claws always retracted.

This was terribly odd and he had trouble understanding. In most of these nightmares, he saw the beast harm other creatures, using its antlers to spear them straight though the middle, blood coating them so completely the black was a deep brick red. In his other nightmares, he usually died. Dying was honestly the only way he knew the dream was over. But with this new beast... The dreams ended when he was caught, properly shown affection, and then released. They were strange indeed.

The pain in his head neutralized after a few seconds and he slowly withdrew his hand. He opened his eyes again to see the sunset (sunrise?) and watched in marvel as all of the different blues and purples and reds and yellows and everything in between seeped into the room, painting the white floor and white furniture with its breath taking hues. The whole room, in fact, was like a blank canvas, patiently awaiting to be painted. Will couldn't remember seeing so much white in his life but-

Wait.

He had seen this much white before.

His most recent instance had been the hospital, and boy, do they collect white sheets like baseball cards. The second instance had been the last time he had been to a crime scene, the last time it had all been so overwhelming that he allowed himself to be led anywhere, and had ended up in the guest room of-

The knob on the door slowly began to turn.

Speak of the devil.


	13. Irresistible

If time was the slut who screwed everybody, then déjà vu was an unforgiving mistress.

Hannibal waltzed in as if he owned the place (which he did, but still) carrying a tray piled high with food for his impromptu patient in care. For all Will knew, that food could be drugged. He knew that this was quickly spiraling into a game of cat and mouse, but that didn't mean he had to play his part and fall for the cheese.

"My dear Will, it appears you have rejoined the land of the living. You must be ravenously hungry, having slept so long." He positioned a chair to face the bed, just as he had done last time. He gently set the tray next to Will and looked at him expectantly. Will had never noticed before how crucial his cooking was to this man, it was practically a weak spot. His need of approval of his food was just enough to resemble one of his dogs looking to be petted, and it made a part of Will want to take a bite just to wipe the look of vulnerability off his face. A predator such as he should never look so vulnerable, it just looked _wrong._

"How did I get here, Dr. Lecter?" He meant to ask something that implied more 'Why am I not at my own house?' or 'Why did they call you to come get me?' but his subconscious was so accustomed to ending up in strange places that the question came across more like 'Did I sleepwalk here?'

Hannibal smiled. "In Jack Crawford's eyes, I am still your psychiatrist. The episode you had at the crime scene that he described to me sounded like a mild seizure, but I assured him it was nothing I couldn't handle." His eyes flicked down to the tray of food and back up to him. Will kept the eye contact and made no move to start eating. "Did you dream while you were rendered unconscious at the hospital? Or was it nothing but thick, grey void? Many people have different recollections from their near death experiences. It's not everyday you get to flirt with death, and I would be honored if you were to share the experience with me." His tone was whimsical with an underlying nostalgia, as if they were swapping childhood adventures once more.

Will shivered and twiddled his thumbs. He had been meaning to share the dark thoughts that had been bouncing around in his head, knocking over the pieces of fine China that held his sanity- that were already far and few between to begin with- and making them crash to the ground and shatter, making a mess of his mind palace. And who better to share these thoughts than with his psychiatrist? Even though he wasn't officially his psychiatrist anymore, nor had he ever legally been so in the first place, this man still knew more about him than anyone and he soon felt the words slipping out of him with a natural ease and familiarity.

He took a deep breath. "I had these, visions, while I was sleeping. At least, that's what it felt like- sleep, equipped with an array of different nightmares. I saw through the eyes of the Tooth Fairy, for instance. It felt as if I became him: I had his reasoning for taking the lives of families down to a science. Each murder was not only justified, but a _necessity._ "

He was in full psychiatrist mode: eyes watching his every move and nodding every so often. Will could tell all of his senses were focused on him, and if it wasn't an involuntary bodily function he would've neglected to breathe.

"And did you find yourself empathizing with any other killers, besides the Tooth Fairy?"

He shook his head. "No. But I did have these... other dreams. I was being chased by this big, black humanoid thing." He shivered again and clenched the bed sheets around him, grounding him. "I- I'd rather not talk about those."

Hannibal nodded and skillfully changed the subject.

"How did it feel to empathize with a killer to the point where you believed his actions were your own?"

"I was never scared, although I believe I should have been. Instead, I embraced it. I felt like I was doing very important work- I wasn't _killing_ them, I was simply _changing_ them- I was making them better than what they were. It was for everyone's benefit that I did my work and it felt... right."

"Is that how it felt when you were at the crime scene today?"

"No, no that felt... wrong. But not, morally wrong, not like you would think. It felt very disconnected, like they weren't wholeheartedly doing something they enjoyed; their mind was on something else. I felt resentful, and bitter, and utterly heartbroken."

"Why did you say 'yes' to Jack, Will? Have you not been receiving my letters?"

"Oh, I've been receiving them all right. The flowers, too."

"Oh really? And I assume their full meanings were not lost on you?"

Will nodded his head.

His smile returned, wider this time. "Oh, my dear sweet William, I knew you would understand. I've always seen us as intellectual equals, and that's not something I can say for many others. There's something special about you," he slowly reached for his head and Will couldn't stomp down his panic, "something special about your mind."

His fingertips did nothing but brush a lock of his hair, but it was enough to light the fuse. Will jerked away. "Don't touch me!" He scooted away from him as far as he could without leaving the bed.

Hannibal withdrew his hand so quickly Will wondered if he had simply imagined the whole thing. If not for the look of confusion on Hannibal's face, he would've thought himself to be hallucinating.

"Will, what's wrong? Tell me what you are thinking."

Oh, he was thinking _plenty_ of things. The first of which being an escape plan. He couldn't rationalize why he was suddenly so terrified of his friend but he had a sudden gut instinct to get as far away from him as possible. Was it the letters that had scared him? Something about those letters had always been off-putting, but not enough to spike such real fear in him, not like this. Perhaps it was that final letter and the prediction that had come with it, the prediction that had proven true.

Jack _had_ come calling, within that very same day, so why wouldn't the rest be true?

 _It's dark on the other side, and madness is waiting_.

It was worded in such a way that rang of personal experience, the cuff of an anecdote that wasn't worth getting into. He knew it was dark on the other side because he had already been there, and madness wasn't the only thing waiting.

The more he thought about it, the less the letter felt like a warning and more of an invitation. He had wanted him to come to that investigation, an investigation that he had been absolutely sure would unfold.

How had he been so sure?

Will looked at Hannibal in a new light, a darker, more ominous light.

"Are- Are you in love with me?"

He wasn't sure if he had expected a 'yes' or a 'no,' but he honestly hadn't expected a complete lack of expression. No facial feature moved in the least bit, as if the question hadn't even been asked. He didn't even blink.

Trying not to panic or look like helpless prey and failing miserably at both, Will changed tactics.

"Did you k-kill Freddie Lounds," he took a stabilizing breath, "for me?"

He smiled because apparently _that_ he could admit to.

Instead of filling up like a balloon full of terror, Will actually felt more deflated with relief. At least he had been right. There had been something about the heart shaped body, something about how easily he had been able to empathize with the killer, as if he had already done so a million times, that had told him who it was. The truth had overwhelmed him to the point of passing out, apparently, but at least he had been correct.

"Why? Why did you do that?"

"Because, dear one, she took the love of your life from you with her adulterous ways-"

"No, I mean- why was the heart... broken?"

He frowned. "Because I am afraid you will never care for me the way I care for you. Not now that you know the truth."

Well, Will knew the truth that he had killed Freddie and presented her as a morbid valentine just for him. Deep down, he knew there was something morally wrong with him for not being as disgusted as he should have been, but really, the gesture seemed a bit... sweet, in its own way. Maybe it was just his empathy but Will could see what Hannibal had been trying to do. He was like a cat that preferred the outdoors, bringing dead animals to his doorstep in a sign of affection.

Now that he could make sense of it, he was no longer scared. A part of him wasn't even surprised.

But why was this so? His best friend came forward as a murderer and he barely batted an eye? It was as if he already knew.

And maybe he had.

No, he definitely had.

He had outright _told him._

He remembered back to his last visit to the hospital, the day he had woken up. He had asked him to come clean about who he really was and he had been force fed a bizarre lie instead. Or at least, it had seemed like a lie at the time. Pardon him for not instantly believing the first person who tells him that he is a _cannibalistic serial killer_ , but he had been sure he was being teased.

But now.

Now he _knew_ that Hannibal had at least killed one person and showed no signs of remorse. There was no feasible way this had been his first kill either. So, if the serial killer aspect was not far fetched anymore, that meant-

His thoughts were interrupted by the pair of black antlers that slowly spouted out of his head, steadily growing like a well cared for plant under time lapse. They were the same antlers of the beast that had stalked him so, always in his peripheral vision but never actually there. The same antlers of the beast he had watched kill creatures mercilessly and slowly, playing with his food before devouring it greedily. The same beast that had chased after him until he surrendered, giving nothing but soft touches and undeserved affection.

He thought the beast had merely been a thing of nightmares, and how foolish of him to think so.

He screamed.

* * *

His hand whipped out faster than lightning, effectively covering his mouth and stopping the unwanted noise. How _rude_ of his pet to howl at this late hour, scaring the neighbors for no good reason.

"Now Will, no need for that," one hand covered his mouth while the other held his head in place, "You look like you've seen a ghost."

He yelped in pain and withdrew his hand after he had the audacity to _bite him_. He would've been furious if he didn't find his violence so endearing.

"I've seen worse," he could barely hear his words as he stared at his lips, now streaked with blood from his hand, "I've seen _you._ "

He flicked his eyes up to meet Will's accusatory glare, sensing that he was being rude for not completely paying attention. But how could he pay attention when he was being so feisty and _biting_. Hard enough to draw blood, even. He had always been a sucker for blood (no pun intended).

He tsked. "Now, my sweet: don't play dumb. You've always been able to see me. You've always had the pieces, so why does the completed puzzle scare you?"

"I am _not_ afraid of you."

Oh, bless his heart. Always so stubborn.

"You are, Will, I can see it in your eyes."

He grabbed a plate of his untouched food and stood up. "I am not afraid of you," he dropped the plate and Hannibal watched in horror as it shattered and bits of food rolled in all directions, "and I never will be."

He rose from his chair slowly, grabbing the knife from the tray of food slowly, and began to make his way over to Will just as slow.

"You should be."

* * *

Will was beginning to think this had been a tactical error. In his attempt to prove how strong he could be under pressure, he had in turn exposed his belly to the beast. The antlers that were once protruding from his head were long gone and only hatred and malicious intent clouded his features. A part of him wished the antlers had stayed, at least that beast surely wouldn't hurt him.

With every step he took forward he took a step back, and they continued this dance until he hit a wall. His chances of escape were looking slim to none: he didn't want to turn his back long enough to open the one window in the room, and he knew he couldn't possibly run past him and out the door, not with his foot feeling like it was on fire.

It was looking more and more like he would just have to wait for his fate, and he had never been one to beg for his life.

What was the point of it? It just made him look weak in his last moments and he knew of very few cases in which it worked. Perhaps in death, he would be rid of his nightmares.

Hannibal reached him now and gently placed a hand on his neck, his pulse point, to be exact. He couldn't help how fast his heart was ramming in his chest, threatening to jump out of his body. He hated that his fear and elevated heart pace was giving his future killer a show.

What an odd relationship they had, evolving from psychiatrist/patient to murderer/victim.

It would surely make the headlines.

He placed a knife on his neck, the steel feather light on his skin. Will was breathing heavily and could already smell blood, though he was sure he had not been cut yet. Perhaps his body was already ready to die, accepting his fate to the point that he was wrought with anticipation.

The sickly sweet smell of anemone filled his nostrils as he closed his eyes.

* * *

 _He carved into his neck, nice and slow, avoiding any major arteries._

 _He wanted to make this last as long as possible._

 _His body convulsed forward, startled by the pain of the action, but with one hand he was able to hold him pinned to the wall once more._

 _He made two jagged lines, slashing downwards, and then ripped open a third one to connect them horizontally._

 _The 'H' that was now forever apart of his neck looked exquisite. The deep red of the blood made a stunning contrast to his pale skin. It was endlessly gratifying to finally be able to claim him as his own. All was as it should be. Maybe later he would spell his full name out on his abdomen, for does one not put a collar on one's dog?_

 _Will had cried out only once, initially, and with each new stroke of the paintbrush he bit his tongue, refusing to give him the satisfaction._

 _He was a smart boy indeed._

 _But Hannibal wished he would open his eyes. He was in the process of giving him the rarest of gifts, yet he didn't seem to want it. He wished he could see those clear eyes as he did his work, a greyish blue so light they were almost see through. It felt unfair that Will was able to get lost in the endorphins his body released with each new infliction of pain, yet he wasn't allowed to get lost in his eyes._

"Will, open your eyes."

His eyes seemed to shut even tighter.

 _He moved the knife up to his face, a face seemingly sculpted of marble. The swelling and discolored parts that had once offended the eyes had gone down beautifully, and his former glory had been restored. He wanted to stare at all of the details of his face forever, memorize each and every detail and sketch it onto paper from memory. It seemed like such a shame to have to mutilate such beauty, a complete waste. But if Will was refusing to listen to directions, then he had to be punished. He laid the knife to his cheek, ready to start sketching, but then stopped when he saw the blood._

 _The blood on his lips._ His _blood._

 _A violent shiver ripped through his body as he stared. He had driven him to bite him. It was his doing that had led to this particular act of violence. That knowledge made the entire ordeal more empowering. He felt strong, dominant, able to take on anything._

 _He pushed the knife into his cheek, just a little. Just enough to make him gasp._

 _And open his eyes._

Will opened his eyes, and it was like being blinded by the sun. Light reflected off his irises in such a breathtaking way, Hannibal dropped his knife in shock. He was pulled from his thoughts and back into reality. His eyes darted away from Will's, unable to withstand the crystal orbs any longer, and he looked to his neck: a neck bereft of blood, not a single slash mark in sight. He hadn't even started his project yet, he'd just been lost in the glorious thought of it.

With the hand that once held the knife, he cupped Will's face, thumb stroking his cheek and brushing over stubble. He could tell he was scared; pupils blown and baited breath, his body was going into fight-or-flight mode. If only he could be calm for such a ceremonious step up in their relationship. There was something about slowly carving into someone with a knife that practically screamed intimacy.

His eyes returned to his blood stained lips. He licked his own subconsciously. He oh so wanted to taste his own blood on those soft lips, the temptation was too great. The seconds rolled by as hours as he contemplated what to do.

Unable to subdue the urge any longer, their lips crashed together. Both of their eyes stayed open as he licked, nibbled, and sucked the dried crimson off his lips. Will stood pinned to the wall all the while, frozen in place and not at all reacting to what was happening. This didn't bother Hannibal, however. It's not like Michelangelo himself didn't prefer working with stone rather than paints.

After he could no longer taste iron, he withdrew and inspected his handiwork. His lips were now red and slicked with saliva, his mouth remained open and he still didn't move. This lack of movement presented itself as a challenge, and not one to be deterred, he tried a different approach.

This time he kissed him, a _real_ kiss, at the corner of his mouth. This sparked a series of kisses on his lips, his cheeks, his forehead, his neck, his nose, each one more reverent than the last. The hand not holding his cheek moved to his mess of hair, hair he had been dying to ruffle and tease. He tugged some locks hard and others soft, but none of this stimulation merited a reaction.

He stopped his exploration of Will and humphed in frustration. Such gentle affection was never fun unless it was reciprocated, or at least _acknowledged_. He remained motionless, hardly blinked, and if he was even breathing at all he was doing so incredibly softly.

If he didn't know better, he'd say he looked stone cold dead.

Speaking of-

Why hadn't he killed him yet? He obviously knew what he was now and would go straight to Jack Crawford, and even if he didn't (in some drastic turn of events) he had more than proven that he showed no interest in Hannibal, not in the way he felt for him.

He could still do it. All he had to do was pick up his pencil and begin once more, and Will being so compliant made it feel almost like a dream.

Is that what it was? A dream?

No, no he was sure that it was real. If it were a dream, there would have been a lot more kissing and being kissed back. And blood. And kissing.

So not a dream then, more of just a surreal occurrence. He looked at Will once more, _really_ looked at him. He thought of all the potential that hid away in that brain of his, just under his silky, chocolate locks, waiting to be discovered by him. He thought of how Will might be able to empathize with him now that he knew everything, and what a great change of pace it would be to finally be understood. To have his feelings and urges validated and categorized as something other than a taboo, and an illegal one at that.

Then he thought about Will himself. His sarcasm, his wit, his devotion, his courage, his crude humor, his selflessness, his off kilter morals, his empathy, his intelligence, his smile, his _lips_. He brushed them with his own once more for good measure.

He couldn't take this away from him. How foolish of him to think for a second that he could.

Will may not have wanted to stay with him currently, but he would soon, willingly, in due time. He already had the beginning of a plan, he just needed to execute it, and not executing Will was a direct by-product of said plan.

His hands traveled away from his face and down his arms, stopping when they reached his hands. He leaned in towards his ear and was surprised to see that he actually flinched away this time after minutes of being non-receptive.

He whispered, "Madness will have to wait longer, it's time for you to go."

* * *

He opened his eyes and watched, motionless, in abject horror as the antlers reappeared and his face slowly turned into a glossy ink. The two beasts had become one once more.

The thing of nightmares that had taken Hannibal's place held the knife steadily on his neck but neglected to make an incision, as if it were an afterthought. Suddenly, the monster dropped the knife, and before he knew what was happening, he was being devoured.

A hungry mouth was attacking his own, greedily licking, nipping, tasting. Each movement felt like an injection of novocaine as Will could steadily feel his body growing more and more numb. He couldn't pull away or reciprocate if he wanted to. He was stuck. Frozen in time. Helpless to what was happening.

 _But what was happening?_

The beast clothed in death and twilight had once again claimed him, and was once again showing no harshness or cruelty. He couldn't understand why he was given a special pass from its inner aggressive state, why he was special.

He slowly pulled out of his thoughts when he realized the thing was staring at him. Staring at him with such intensity he wouldn't be surprised to learn it was reading his mind.

No longer paralyzed with fear, he felt feeling come back to his body. He was able to move again. Regardless, he remained still under the predator's scrutiny, not wanting to provoke it. His face felt sticky and wet, as if sweat or saliva coated it. His finger twitched in favor of wiping it off, but he still didn't move. The last thing he wanted was to give it a reason to start hurting him.

He stared into its pitch black eyes and watched as the thing slowly brushed its lips against his own once more, and then withdrew. It was the lightest of touches and so incredibly affectionate Will was hit with a sudden realization.

The beast had not been trying to eat his soul, although that's what it had felt like.

It had been _kissing_ him, plain and simple.

He felt his eyes grow wider as he watched the spectacle in front of him: the beast's charcoal tones slowly melted away to reveal a human face and a man's body, one that he was all too familiar with. The fear that had left him when the beast was seemingly claiming him as his own returned with an astonishing force.

The beast had never hurt him, but the man underneath was unpredictable.

He slowly leaned in towards his ear, and he couldn't help but flinch in fear of being bitten.

He also couldn't help but listen to the words as they were whispered to him.

* * *

He had been watching his prey all day. Had followed him everywhere he went, and everyone he went with. That particular day he had been abnormally busy, going more places than he seemed comfortable with.

This only made his job harder.

He needed a window of opportunity of when he could strike, and the window needn't even be fully open, just cracked enough to get some footing. Just a bit of luck and his prey's guard being down just once would be enough.

But foolishly, his charge had gone into the lion's den.

He hadn't gone in willingly, however, he'll give him that. Rather, he had been carried in like a sleeping damsel in distress, and who knows what had become of him now. He had watched the two interact before and he knew that his prey was the lion's most beloved thing, but there was something off-putting about the encounter.

There had been a certain look on his usually expressionless face, a look that plagued his own mirror constantly. It was a look that reflected an upcoming, justified death, a look that foreshadowed a reckoning.

And it had been odd indeed to see such a look on him as he carried his most precious thing, but it had undoubtedly been there.

Hours had passed, and his prey had not yet left. Or rather, escaped.

He was beginning to worry his work was not going to be done, and his idol would never spare him more than a fleeting thought.

All he wanted was to be noticed.

As if on cue, his charge emerged from the house of death and stepped onto the porch. He would've swooped in right then and there if not for the lion having escorted him out, hand on the small of his back. The gesture seemed to be the only thing keeping him upright and he watched as he swayed side to side, the light breezes of wind gently tossing him back and forth, anticipating which gust would be strong enough to knock him over.

He didn't have to wait long. Leaning a bit too much to one side, he lost his balance and began to fall. The trip was short lived, however, as his owner quickly caught him and straightened him back up, one hand on his back and the other on his chest.

Despite the hostility he could see coming off the lion in waves, his target leaned into the touch, head taking refuge in the crook of his shoulder. To initiate such a response, he was sure his prey was either hopped off on drugs, riding the aftershock of a panic attack, traumatized, or sleep deprived, but he'd be willing to bet money it was a mixture of all four.

The open affection didn't drive out a smile from his master, but he could tell by the subtle changes in his face that he was pleased.

He watched as his target was gently sat down. The door was left open as his owner retreated inside. He would be back any second. Now was the time to act.

* * *

How could he, a connoisseur of clothes, forget such an essential article?

He left their jackets in the room? Really?

And after all the work that it had taken to get Will on his feet, much less out the door, making him take the trek with him all the way back upstairs would be cruel and unusual punishment. And not the good kind.

But they really did need their jackets. It was nippier outside than he had anticipated, and if by the way Will had essentially curled up against him for warmth was any indication, he had thought so too.

He had gently sat Will down on the porch, sternly telling him not to move. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to flee if he tried, though. Ever since he had stopped kissing him and prompted that he leave, Will had seemed out of his mind. He had diagnosed that he was going into shock or about to have a mild panic attack, and his silly behavior was his attempt at fighting off his vulnerability. He was overcompensating his actions, shooting for normalcy but landing somewhere in the realm of 'over affectionate' and 'mild mannered,' two things Will was anything but.

He had always been so stubborn.

Hannibal continued up the stairs and pondered why he had not yet ended his life. It was his right to do so, of course, and his right only, and yet he couldn't bring himself to do it. He was even going to drive Will home as soon as he rounded up their coats.

It worried him that the changes Will's presence had made on his character may have been irreversible, and it worried him more that he didn't truly care.

He reached the guest room and immediately spotted the jacket Will had been wearing when Jack had first brought him. When he had initially carried him upstairs, he had half a mind to change him into some clean clothes before laying him on the fresh, white sheets. He reeked of dog and outdoors, but the scent was so utterly _Will_ that he had vetoed that notion.

He had barely ghosted his fingers over the fabric when he heard a scream.

Will.

He instantly turned around and bounded down the steps.

He reached the front door, still ajar, and forcefully opened it all the way to assess the situation.

Will was gone.

A note and a small pool of blood had taken his place.


	14. Death Valley

_He couldn't remember how it started, but he surely knew how it would end._

 _He thought he had been fast enough. He had been_ so close.

 _But he hadn't been fast enough._

 _A magnificent, fearsome beast had laid claim on him. A scaly, blood red, mighty, fire-breathing beast. A_ dragon _of sorts. It had made chase, and now he was entangled in its tail._

 _The dragon slowly maneuvered him onto a nearby tree. After only a few tries, he soon dangled upside down from a branch, directly above a waterfall._

 _He cried out, pleading for someone to come save him._

 _The dragon only laughed._

 _He continued to call for help, sure that someone would hear him. And soon enough, someone did._

 _He could see them coming in the distance. A white horse was galloping towards him, and atop him sat a knight, steel armor coated in a bright red rather than a glistening grey. The contrast was startling and so surreal he couldn't look away._

 _In his distraction, the dragon watched as the knight and his steed made their grand entrance, watching them with the intent of a predator._

 _Finally, they were a few yards away from the dragon and his hostage. The knight jumped off his horse without slowing to a stop and pulled out his sword in one swift motion. He began charging at the beast, looking for all the world like this was his first dragon slaying._

 _Will knew he was in trouble._

 _His fears were confirmed as he watched the dragon thump his tail three times and take in a deep breath before spewing out an impossible amount of smoke and fire at the heroes. When the dust cleared, all that remained of them were two piles of ashes. Will mentally applauded their efforts and hoped they didn't suffer long._

 _Suddenly, one of his ties snapped._

 _His heart stopped when it happened._

 _Now he dangled by on foot, upside down, directly above the angry flow of the waterfall._

 _It was only a matter of time before the other tie snapped._

 _Coming over the horizon from relatively the same place as the knight, a black figure appeared. He stared as it made its way over to them at its own leisurely pace, and he immediately knew that his original nightmare had found its way into his current one. But something was different about it this time. Something about its strides or its body language gave off a sense of focused energy, like a controlled ray of light, rather than a reckless destructiveness. Something about it came across as determination to achieve something, rather than random malicious intent, and it wasn't as if the beast had ever harmed him before._

 _Will knew he was saved._

 _When the figure made of shadows and twilight came within a few yards of them, the dragon began his ritual once more. He thumped his tail three times and drew in a breath._

 _The beast continued towards them, undeterred._

 _Large bursts of fire ruptured out of the dragon's throat, enveloping the creature and burying him under brimstone until he was no longer seen._

 _The dragon, pleased with his work, stopped the theatrics after a few seconds. The smoke cleared to reveal the pitch black beast, ever so steady in his strides towards them, bereft of the slightest indication that it technically should have just been burned alive._

 _The dragon watched, dumbfounded, as it made its way over. Still in shock, the dragon did nothing to stop the beast as the antlers speared through it. Will watched as blood flowed thickly from the wound and onto the antlers, blood so dark it looked black. It was hard t tell where the antlers stopped and the blood began._

 _The beast withdrew its antlers and the dragon crumpled to the ground in a mighty and dignified 'thud'._

 _Will gasped in horror when he heard a branch from his tree snap._

 _This grabbed the beast's attention and it slowly made its way over. He was so overwhelmed with relief from being saved that he wanted to cry. And when the beast reached out to gently touch his cheek, he did as much. Hot tears of joy fell from his eyes and disappeared into the swirling waters down below._

 _Hand still cradling his cheek, the beast leaned over to him, stopping when their noses were mere centimeters apart. Its thumb caressed his cheek, stroking it from side to side. Its lips were warm when they pressed onto his forehead, surprising Will less so of the kiss but moreso that the beast did not feel as cold as death or the chilled night sky._

 _It was a pleasant surprise._

 _The beast leaned away from him and titled its head. If he were able to look into its eyes, Will would've bet money that it was deeply lost in thought about him, contemplating what it should do with him. It obviously wanted to keep him, but seem conflicted about something._

 _Will saw what was going to happen next before it happened, and as his nightmare unfolded it did so in slow motion._

 _Its tilted head made its antlers brush against the tie around his foot, and as the beast's head tilted once more, one brush of the razor sharp antlers was all it took._

 _Before either of them knew it, he was falling._

Will awoke, for the second time that day, completely disoriented and unable to remember when he had fallen asleep. His head throbbed and his entire arm had that pins and needles feeling to it, like ants crawling around aimlessly under his skin. His legs felt numb but his previously sprained foot was screaming in pain, and he could feel all the blood rushing to his head.

 _Am I upside down?_

He slowly opened his eyes to confirm as much. He was hanging upside down by his feet, a few inches off the ground. He looked around the desolate room: it was dark, but dim moonlight came in through the windows, and there was no furniture whatsoever except for a rusted barrel here and there. For all intents and purposes, the room looked like an abandoned warehouse.

"Kidnapped and brought to an abandoned warehouse? How original." His sarcasm was his last defense and he couldn't help but use it. He looked up at himself and wondered how he hadn't even registered that his shirt was off until now.

From the corner of his eye he saw a shadow move. He peered over his shoulder to see a man, slowly making his way towards him.

"What makes you so special?" The man said under his breath as he approached. "Why were you chosen?"

Will concentrated on regulating his breathing and staying calm rather than concentrating on the glint of the knife the man carried. It was terribly important that he didn't have a panic attack now of all times.

"I'm not special," he was impressed with how steady his voice sounded, "There was no reason for you to choose me."

Now in front of him, the man made no hesitation before placing his hand on Will's abdomen. His hand was inhumanely cold. " _I_ chose you because _he_ chose you. He sees something in you, but the question is what. What does he see in you? Or is it something you see in him?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. Where am I?"

Without warning, he quickly slashed a red stripe across his abdomen and pectoral muscles. The cut was superficial and not very deep, but the unexpectedness of it prompted Will to cry out in pain.

"We do not have time for your stalling. He's already begun my little scavenger hunt by now and should be here any moment. Now tell me, why has he chosen you?"

He could feel the blood slowly pooling on his neck and under his chin. "Who? Hannibal? Chosen me for what?"

"He has laid claim to you. You are his and we all know it. He has marked his territory so impeccably well you have even begun to smell like him." He took a deep whiff, either to emphasize his point or merely indulging a tick all serial killers apparently shared. "Only a fool would risk taking his property from him."

"Well," he couldn't help but smirk, despite the pain, "That makes you a fool then." He braced himself for another angry line but received none.

He was surprised to see his captor smirk back. "That's not all that makes me."

He took the opportunity to get a good long look at his kidnapper, which was fairly difficult considering that his eye level was roughly at his feet. In addition to this hindrance, the man was also wearing a black ski mask with no eye holes, covering his entire face but leaving his mouth and chin exposed. On his upper lip, he was just able to make out a distinct scar. It looked as if the man had had a hook in his mouth, only to be yanked out unexpectedly.

His mind lingered on something that had been said.

"Hannibal could be here at any moment. He's pretty good at, er- scavenger hunts and I believe it's in your best interest to let me go." He paused. "You won't like him when he's angry."

His finger began to trace alongside the cut, no doubt leaving a trail of blood in its wake. Will shuddered.

"You seem quite positive that he will do anything to protect you. Even going against an infamous 'family of four serial killer,' as the tabloids say. You must know the beast's true name, then."

"Yes, I am all too aware of what Hannibal enjoys in his free time-"

"Yet you still hope he comes to save you."

He paused and rethought his words, choosing his new ones carefully. "Better the devil you know than the devil you don't, Tooth Fairy."

This earned him another slash in the opposite direction. He bit his tongue as to not cry out, for it was never smart to feed into sadistic indulgences.

"Ah yes, do bite your tongue before I cut it off. How he has let you survive with that rude mouth of yours is beyond me. Before we continue, it is vital you know exactly to whom you are speaking."

He dropped the knife and backed up a few steps. He didn't take off his shirt but rather tore it off, ripping it in two pieces and tossing it to the ground. His voice was decibels lower as he introduced his true identity.

"I," his pauses and intakes of breath were sustained and exaggerated, "Am the Great, Red, DRAGON." And with the last word, which was more growl than word, he promptly turned around to reveal a tattoo of a dragon human hybrid that covered the entirety of his back. His back muscles moved in such a way it looked as though the dragon on his back was alive and breathing. Will had no doubt in his mind that to him, it was.

The Great Red Dragon turned back around, picked up his knife, and resumed stroking his wounds as if nothing had happened. Will fought off whiplash.

"Now tell me why he has chosen you."

He rolled his eyes. This again. "I honestly don't know why," the feel of cold steel on his abdomen made him backpedal,"But! But, I think he just wanted a friend, maybe. Someone to accept him? Someone able to empathize with him," he felt the knife withdraw, "someone to validate his feelings and urges. I- I think this need of acceptance... terribly humanizes him."

A thick silence fell as his words sunk in.

"Are you able to empathize with anyone?"

"Well, I wouldn't say that-"

"But you were able to empathize with me, that's how you recognized me. You had gotten into my head before and you're getting into it now and seeing I haven't redecorated. I too would like my efforts acknowledged, to be _understood._ "

He suddenly cut Will down and his head collided with the unforgiving floor. His instincts, now in autopilot, prompted him to scoot away and attempt escape, but he was quickly pinned down. The strength of the other man was astonishing and he soon found himself unable to move. He was trapped, once again, in the dragon's tail.

"I just may have to keep you."

A response came, but not from Will's mouth.

"I would highly advise against taking a book that has already been checked out."

* * *

After hours of being sent on the wild goose chase the note had left him, Hannibal's patience had been wearing thin.

Scrawled on the note left on his porch had been coordinates to a location, which turned out to be the park he had left his broken heart in. The park was still closed off to the public, of course, so the next note had been placed discreetly in the trunk of a tree. The entire endeavor stank of Easter Sundays and _To Kill a Mockingbird_ a bit too much for his liking, but this was the only clue he had as to where Will had been taken, and so he pushed on to the next indicated location, and the next after that.

A bit of deductive reasoning told him that Will had been being watched for quite some time, his captor patiently waiting for the perfect moment. A tad over eager yet still fairly experienced, he had shot a tranquilizer dart into his dear Will's arm, however the trajectory of it had pierced right through his flesh, hence the blood. Such rookie mistakes gave him an idea of who it could be and told him that his precious cargo would be handled roughly.

His ever so helpful imagination provided him with astonishingly clear images of Will, beaten and bloodied, awaiting rescue.

Such images made him move faster.

Soon, but not soon enough, he had arrived at the abandoned warehouse, an offensive serial killer cliché he didn't even want to get into. He had let himself in but hadn't let himself known. It was essential to first see what he was up against. He followed the voices he heard until he heard a painfully familiar one.

"I honestly don't know why. But!" He sounded pained and this infuriated him. "But, I think he just wanted a friend, maybe. Someone to accept him? Someone able to empathize with him," he found himself hanging on every word, hungry for more, "Someone to validate his feelings and urges. I- I think this need of acceptance... terribly humanizes him."

Oh, Will.

How lucky was he to have captured a star as luminescent as him. He had taken a constellation and renamed it. His discovery was for him to keep, and him only.

But by the way the conversation continued, this didn't seem to be known as the case.

He revealed himself by coming around the corner, but they failed to notice, too busy with their game of wrestling. Hannibal saw the pool of blood on the floor, undoubtedly Will's, and he was once again reminded of what he couldn't bring himself to do.

He wanted to scream in frustration.

Instead, he watched as they struggled, as evenly matched as a falcon and a bunny, steadily making his way towards them with silent footsteps.

"I just may have to keep you."

He wanted to keep the element of surprise, but found his possessiveness too strong to be tamed. "I would highly advise against taking a book that has already been checked out."

Both of them stilled for a fraction of a second before Will was flipped and put into a headlock with remarkable ease. He slowly brought them to a stand, knife pressed against his neck with a unwavering surety.

It was the same place he had been meaning to cut.

"Stop where you are, or he dies."

He stopped in his tracks. This wasn't his first hostage situation and he knew it was always a bad choice to negotiate with the terrorist. If the hostage had been anyone else, he would have merely slowed his steps to a crawl, sure that they were bluffing or at least willing to gamble it. It was always important to make clear who had the upper-hand and who would be making the rules.

But with Will, he didn't want to take such chances.

Looking at Will now, he was surprised at how calm his face was and taken aback when his mind registered the angry, red slashes across his torso. He had known Will had been bleeding at some point, but he hadn't thought the marks would be such a _personal offense_ to him.

White hot rage began to fill him, making his skin feel like a live wire. The beast within him scolded him for allowing this dance to last so long, but still he made no move to come closer.

"Let's not do anything we'll regret."

He laughed and the knife wobbled. He could read the concentration on Will's face, begging him not to flinch from either the knife nor the unwanted physical contact.

"Regrets are for the Tooth Fairy. I," his voice dropped several octaves, "am the Great, Red, DRAGON."

He rolled his eyes despite himself. He had been wrong to think that Alan Bloom was the most theatrical entity out there.

"And what do you want with my Will, oh mighty one?"

"I want him because you deemed him worthy. You let him _see_ you, even now." His voice was back to normal but wrought with emotion. "I _need_ that."

"No one but me gets to kill him, and I have no present intention to. Release him."

"You never noticed me. Never took an interest in me or my work. I'm more like you than him, so why him? _I_ can already see you. I _am_ you. Why not _me_?"

He raised his hands up in surrender, indicating he had no weapon. He slowly began to walk over to them as he spoke each word. "Will means a great deal to me, more than you could understand. It is quite rare that I feel so strongly about something, and it is absolutely detrimental that I get him back." He continued his steps towards them, moving at a snail's pace. "I could go on and on about the finer points of Will Graham, going into great detail about his eyes, or his hair, or his wit, or various other things before I even scratch the surface about how utterly important he is to me." He was now fairly close to the both of them, but the dragon failed to notice, completely enraptured with his words of admiration.

Hannibal maintained direct eye contact with Will. "I only hope that he will realize it someday." He looked from Will, to the dragon, and then back to Will, praying he received his message.

Will gave the smallest of head nods before tilting his head and biting into the dragon's cheek. Startled, he immediately pulled both himself and the knife away, but a large piece of cheek remained in Will's mouth. Hannibal punched him square in the jaw with all his might, effectively knocking him to the ground.

The dragon lay still.

He turned around and pulled Will into a tight embrace. His hands naturally found their way into his hair and the small of his back, but he wasn't surprised that he didn't hug him back. It was his fault that he had been taken in the first place, and the fact that he wasn't trying to desperately get away was enough of a victory.

"What has he done to you," he whispered angrily as he squeezed tighter, not willing to let go. "This will never happen again." He breathed in the smell of his hair greedily, joyous to find that it smelled of his pillows.

He heard Will spit the chunk of flesh out. Without releasing him, he leaned back so that they were face to face. Will's mouth and parts of both cheeks were covered in crimson, and it took all the willpower he could muster not to kiss it off him again. He vowed to himself that there would be no more kissing of Will until he was sure the action would be reciprocated.

As if he could tell what he was thinking, Will smiled. It was a broken sort of smile and his ivory teeth were now stained blood red, as if laced with wine, but it was a smile all the same.

He smiled back and slowly brought their foreheads together, tremendously pleased that Will still hadn't moved away. He closed his eyes, smelling the auras of blood and that of his own house that rolled off him, wanting to savor the moment of peace.

But that's all it was. A moment.

Will gasped and Hannibal's eyes flew open to see what had startled him. He went boneless under his embrace, his knees buckling. He would've fallen if his arms hadn't already been wrapped around him. He looked down just in time to see the dragon pull the knife out of his side.

He had assumed that he was unconscious but in his excitement, he hadn't checked. A rookie mistake.

He kicked him hard in the face and pulled Will over to a corner of the room. He needed to pick a crisis and deal with it because he obviously couldn't handle both at once.

He laid Will gingerly on the ground, propping his head up with a nearby brick. Quickly, he took off his shirt and ripped it until it was a long strip of fabric. He wrapped Will's wounds up, wincing as he thought how infected they would be from the exposure of such a dirty environment. The visible pain on his face made something within him ache, as if the pain were his own. He ran his hand through his hair once more and kissed his forehead.

He got up, dusted off his pants, and made his way over to his other problem. The dragon was up and waiting, swaying side to side slightly but had a look of determination on his face. He took several long strides until they were a foot apart. The dragon raised his knife up and brought it down quickly, but Hannibal caught his hand before it could make contact with his skin. He kneed him in the groin, but Hannibal steeled his expression despite the excruciating pain. He retaliated by headbutting him. The dragon stumbled backwards a few steps but didn't fall. With a sudden swiftness, he sliced into his abdomen.

He clutched his stomach, not wanting his insides on the outside, and proceeded to punch him with his free hand, again and again. Each punch painted his face, the palette consisting of only black and blue. But with each swing he was reimbursed with his very own sweep of the paintbrush, and soon long red lines coated his arms and shoulders.

They were making each other into masterpieces.

It continued like this for some time, one unwilling to fall and the other unwilling to bleed out. All of a sudden, Hannibal felt something sweep under his feet, knocking him off balance and making him fall. His back hit the ground with enough force to knock the wind out of him, and his inability to stand up immediately quite literally exposed his belly to the beast.

The dragon pinned him down, purposely crushing his stomach with his knee. The blood flowed more freely and the abundance of it was beginning to worry him. He then carved a long slash on his neck, just barely missing his jugular vein. He raised his knife up again, the blade hovering directly over his face.

"Do you see? This is what happens when you mess with the Great, Red-"

* * *

Reality and visions of his mind's own making intricately weaved together. He was incapable of knowing if what he saw was real or not, but it felt real regardless.

He watched as the beast delicately laid a kiss to his forehead. It once again felt incredibly warm to the touch, no where near as icy as the dragon had been.

The beast backed away and he was immediately hit with the withdrawal of heat. He would've beckoned it back if he didn't know how important its mission was to the both of them: it was absolutely crucial that the dragon was slain.

The dragon blasted his fire, but the beast was unaffected, of course. The beast jabbed him with its antlers. The dragon was visibly weakened, yet relentless in his drive to remain upright. The two repeated this sequence, neither of them willing to back down.

He watched as they slowly started to switch colors: the dragon was given splotches of black and the offering was returned with jagged lines of red.

It was beautiful.

Will was awe struck. He slowly began to get up, approaching them like a moth drawn to light. Even though he thought the armor the beast had given him would be enough protection, he grabbed the shield too, taking into account how dangerous it would be to come in between an unstoppable force and an unmovable object.

As he drew near, he stopped to marvel at the dragon's scales. He had shed his skin and left it on the floor, and Will thought he would be pleased to have it returned to him. He picked it up and continued onward.

He was close now, but before he could make himself known, the dragon swept his tail under the beast, knocking it down. The dragon wasted no time and pounced on the beast. It took a bite, and the beast didn't rise.

This bothered Will.

It shouldn't have, because the dragon killing the beast meant the end to one of his recurring problems. He would be free and unafraid.

But the beast had saved him from the dragon, already giving him both of which he sought.

He watched the tell-tale signs of the dragon about to release his fire, stomping its tail and inhaling breath, sure that this would be the final move to end it all.

He clutched the dragon skin in one hand and the shield tightly in the other, and made a decision.

* * *

A brick collided with his face, throwing him off Hannibal.

With both hands now free, one covered his belly and the other pressed hard to his neck. He turned his head in the direction the brick had been thrown, only to see Will standing there shakily and breathing heavily.

Honestly, he was surprised they were both still alive. His stubbornness must have been rubbing off on him.

Will limped over to his side and knelt down. In his hands were shredded pieces of fabric that looked like the remains of a shirt. Will wrapped up his neck first and then his abdomen.

Neither of them spoke as he did so.

As he tended to his wounds, Hannibal pulled himself to an upright sitting position and watched the dragon intently, making sure he remained still as he bled out. His skull looked severely fractured and the pool of blood under him made his injuries unsurvivable, but he was in no hurry to make the same mistake twice.

Will finished but his hands remained on his handiwork. The voluntary contact demanded Hannibal's full attention and he turned to look at him.

He looked absolutely wrecked: eyes blood red and his face even more so. His bandages seemed to be stopping the blood nicely but he still looked pale and feeble, as if dying. He wanted nothing more than to card his fingers through his hair, hold him close and tell him everything was going to be alright, even if it was a lie.

"He-" his voice was shaky. He paused and swallowed before continuing. "He was going to kill you."

Hannibal brought his hand up and cupped his cheek. "But you killed him instead, my dear Will."

Will released a pained laugh at that. He brought his hands up to gently touch the fabric on his neck. "Better the devil you know."

Hannibal smiled.

Will smiled back.

In the distance, the sounds of sirens gradually grew louder.


	15. Folie à Deux

**_A month later_**

He was past living on borrowed time, now he was outright stealing it.

The doctors had been surprised, but not as surprised as he, when his wounds had healed terrifically and with only minor infections, nothing a good cleaning couldn't handle.

He didn't know how he had survived, or how he was _still_ alive.

It was common knowledge that Hannibal had been released from the hospital a few days ago, but he had yet to make his grand appearance. He had assumed that by now he would've made an attempt to kill him, kidnap him, or at the very least quiet him.

He knew too much now.

Will was as suspicious as he was curious.

He wanted to talk to someone, anyone, about what he had gone through and what he knew, but he feared that doing so would seal his fate. He had even tried to call Alan, who had finally woken up from his coma and was now at home, only to be sent to voicemail after a few rings every time.

Two could play at that game.

If anything, Will should be the only one between them that was still mad, it's not like _he_ was the one who had cheated. The fact that Alan was mad at him for simply _being mad_ was petty and extremely in character, reminding him of how toxic a relationship he had been in.

And so he waited. He told himself he was just enjoying his solitude and his dogs, recovering after a traumatic experience. But if he was being honest, he was waiting to see what Hannibal's next move would be, and he craved the security of his own home. The best part of 'believing' something truly had always been the 'lie'.

An answer soon came to him in the form of a letter and a flower left on his doorstep. The familiarity and sense of foreboding that struck him upon seeing it was a physical thing.

Under the offering was a pile of clothes, crisp and neatly folded. He timidly unraveled the first article of clothing and found that it was a suit jacket that fit him perfectly, probably tailored and custom ordered, considering who it was from. Under the jacket were pants to go with it.

Before he read the letter, he inspected and sniffed the flower that accompanied it for some time. It had been the purple one again, his favorite, but the meaning was now lost on him.

* * *

Will had shown up, on time, wearing the suit he had given him. It was like Christmas.

It was a nice suit, but if he had used merely that descriptor he knew Bedelia would have his head. It was actually a stunning tweed suit, and its color scheme of blue and grey complemented his eyes magnificently.

"You have beautiful eyes." He hadn't meant to say it aloud, but something about Will's presence pulled the truth out of him kicking and screaming.

His guest blushed and ducked his head, stuttering out a 'thank you.' He moved out of the way so he could step in. He began to take his shoes off out of courtesy but he stopped him, deeming it unnecessary.

Tonight was a special occasion.

It could also play out in a variety of ways, some bad and some good, depending on Will's choices.

He looked him up and down, pleased to see how nicely he had healed, no longer abnormally pale. His nervous ticks seemed to be back: his hands didn't know what to do with themselves besides tug and tease the lapels of the jacket, but that was highly acceptable. That meant Will was Will again.

He mentally applauded himself for being so wise before having entered that warehouse: phoning Jack Crawford and alerting him of their situation and location had proven to be in everyone's best interest.

"I'm regretful to say that the main course is not yet done," he led the way though the living room and into the kitchen, "but the hors d'oeuvres are ready to go if you'd like to-"

"Why did you send me this?"

He turned around to see Will leaning against the mantel of the fireplace, fiddling with the yellow petals of a flower. He recognized it to be one of the carnations he had sent him and remembered its meaning just as quickly.

He gave him no answer and simply walked over to him, mirroring his posture and leaning against the mantel.

Will furrowed his brow. He couldn't help but think the puzzled look on his face was adorable. "Why did you send me this flower? What have I done to you?"

"It's not what you _have_ done, my dear William, it's what you _haven't_. Was I misguided in doing so? Do you feel differently?" He tried to not sound too hopeful.

Instead of answering, he tossed the flower into the roaring fire. Its fragrance filled the room.

He had sent the yellow carnation of 'rejection' to Will more as a way to calm his own nerves. He knew Will would look up all of the flower meanings, so he figured that if he assumed he was rejected and this notion wasn't corrected, then he had his answer. But now-

He invaded his personal space before he could stop himself, but he did have enough restraint to not touch him. What happened next was completely in Will's hands.

"What are you telling me, Will?"

Will leaned in a fraction. "I'm saying I can see you," his words ghosted over his lips. "And what I see is beautiful."

The press of lips onto his own acted as an ON switch for the rest of his body. His arms wrapped themselves around his waist whereas Will's arms favored his shoulders. There was no taste of blood now, but what he tasted instead was a delightful surprise. His mouth sang of nuts and honey and tea, such simple notes that came together as a complex piece of pure artistry.

Will was the first to withdraw to catch his breath, and as he did so Hannibal went to work on his neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark. He thought back to the angry 'X' that he had seen on his chest, probably still a visible scar, and he held him a bit tighter. He promised himself that love bites were the only physical marks he would ever leave on his beloved.

He pulled back just enough to look him in the eye without ruining their embrace.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Will? I don't believe I could bring myself to kill you if you chose to reject me." The words were truer than he felt comfortable admitting.

Will smiled and kissed him once more, effectively shushing him. His hands found their way back into his lush hair, essentially their new home. It took him by surprise when he felt hands playing with his own hair, giving him tremendous pleasure.

For the hundredth time in the hundredth way, he found his breath being stolen by Will Graham.

The beeping of the oven interrupted the festivities.

Hannibal broke the kiss and gave Will a toothy grin. "My dear one, although you taste good enough to eat, I do believe dinner is ready."

* * *

He was out of his depth and they both knew it.

He was no idiot though, he could see this for what it really was. This was no _Beauty and the Beast_ story, rather it was a twisted spin on Stockholm's Syndrome. Hannibal had never kept him physically captive, but he had been the only one to make him feel safe, cared for, and loved, even, all at once. Showing him nothing but kindness even when he felt he didn't deserve it had radically spiked his psychological dependence on him, leaving him physically free but emotionally trapped.

Much like that of his nightmare beast.

His acceptance to the dinner invitation had reeked of a trap. It was only in his nature to retaliate.

He had to keep up with appearances, however, lest Hannibal know something was up. That meant wearing the dumb suit, being on time, and declaring his mutual fondness for him in the most dramatic way possible. In doing so, he wanted to incorporate two of Hannibal's favorite things: flowers and fire.

There was something strangely poetic about that man as a whole, something marvelous about how equally fascinated he was with beauty and destruction. Good and evil. Life and death. He saw himself as a God in his own right, yet used the means of the Devil to achieve such a title. It was as if his lack of a moral compass allowed him to have an uncensored admiration for anything and everything, and a part of Will found that wonderful and endearing.

But he had a plan and he needed to stick with it. The swing of the racket was meaningless without a proper follow through.

He arrived with the full intention to win Hannibal's heart and slowly erode it later, no matter what it took. He was a monster, despite everything. Killing innocent lives didn't go unnoticed just because he had saved his own. Will wasn't _t_ _hat_ selfish.

But then he had opened the door and stood there, aghast, merely looking at him in disbelief.

His plan had been working so far.

"You have beautiful eyes."

His plan had taken an unexpected jab and he couldn't recover quickly enough.

Eyes had always been a sore spot for him growing up. He had fashioned quite a reputation for himself as his empathy skills came into full swing. He was able to tell a person's life story from a mere glance into their eyes, accidentally pulling their secrets from their locked vaults and putting them on verbal display, allowing them to see exactly what he had taken.

His skills had been denounced rather than appreciated.

He had been pegged as a crook and a thief to top off his nicknames of weirdo and four-eyes, but the names had never hurt as much as the beatings from bullies. It was hardly his fault that he used his talents to expose their dirty laundry of wetting their beds or being deathly afraid of butterflies or countless other embarrassing things when they picked on him, he had no other choice. It wasn't as if he could stand a chance fighting them back, being half their weight.

But now his eyes had been taken interest in. Not as a source of weakness in the eyes of bullies or even as a valuable tool in the eyes of professional bullies, but for what they were: eyes. Decent ones, at that.

He felt his cheeks heat up at the compliment as he stepped inside and expressed his gratitude. Apparently, a by-product of being able to see others meant being seen as well.

He eventually recovered and set the rest of his plan in motion, burning the 'rejection' flower effortlessly and really falling into character. He picked up on the signs that Hannibal wanted desperately to kiss him, yet he was trying with all his might to not do so. He decided he would make the choice easier for him.

"What are you telling me, Will?"

And that's around the time his second shield had fallen.

He thought back to the broken heart he had made for him, his equivalent of a love note. He thought to the letters that haunted him, but lingered on the flowers that said what he seemingly wasn't able to. Then he thought back to the dragon. They had slain a dragon, together. He couldn't say that with anyone else.

He couldn't help but lean in, whispering words that were nothing if not true.

It also didn't help his plan of betrayal that the kiss had been extraordinary, full of passion and genuine affection. He found himself not faking it but feeling it, and couldn't even bring himself to worry that his plan was quickly spiraling out of control.

He felt suffocated under all of the compassion Hannibal was expressing towards him through their locked lips, and had to pull away to catch his breath. His hands found their way into his hair and he felt the same being done for him. He felt overwhelmed, drowning in emotions as sweet and thick as syrup.

A chill went down his spine as he felt his neck being kissed and sucked on, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation.

Hannibal pulled away and he instantly felt a withdrawal of heat, as well as a sense of déjà vu.

"Are you sure this is what you want, Will? I don't believe I could bring myself to kill you if you chose to reject me."

Will searched his face and eyes, tapping into his skills as a human lie detector. He was pleased to find nothing but sincerity there, which is all he ever wanted. The human emotion that resided there left him slightly taken aback. He knew that whatever emotion he was seeing was because he was being allowed to, that he wanted him to. He knew he was one on a very short list of people who were given access to see through the veil, and it made him feel special.

There was something incredibly enticing about being loved by someone who hated everyone. To be the only creature the beast refused to eat.

In that moment, he was hit with the full force of the love Hannibal felt for him, and he knew it wouldn't take much for him to soon feel the same.

His plan was put on hold rather than discarded, and he told him as much in his kiss of a response. Whether or not his plan ever came off the shelf was entirely dependent on Hannibal's actions.

After the oven's interruption, they were soon seated around his extravagant table. Hannibal took the liberty to make both their plates, piling them high with potatoes, vegetables, and roasted lamb with rosemary. When he finished, he topped them each off with a flower the size of his fist, laced with oranges, yellows, and golds.

Will wasted no time and shoved a big bite of meat into his mouth, subsequently wetting his palette with potatoes and fresh vegetables. He couldn't help but close his eyes and moan in delight, savoring the taste.

He opened his eyes to find Hannibal eating his own food, watching him, with glints of humor in his eyes.

"Enjoying the food?"

He hummed an 'Mmmhmmm' in response, not wanting to be so rude as to open his mouth. He waited until he chewed and swallowed before continuing.

"Why the flower? What does this one mean?"

He swallowed his own food before responding and dabbed his mouth with his napkin. "It's a marigold. They were given to the Virgin Mary as gifts from the poor who couldn't afford anything else, hence the name 'Mary's gold'. They symbolize passion and creativity, and are an intentional piece of this dish. They're edible and provide a slightly spicy, tangy flavour to the dish that I do believe complements the meat wonderfully."

Will speared a piece of meat with his fork and a piece of flower with it. He tasted the combination and was delightfully surprised. The rich flavors danced a marvelous ballet in his mouth. He swallowed and his taste buds demanded an encore, one he was eager to provide.

"Well, I have to say it tastes amazing, Hannibal." He saw him visibly flinch in surprise and knew that it was from the use of his first name again and not the compliment towards his food. He smiled at the effect and subtle power he had over him.

"You know, Will," his expression switched over to something more serious, so Will watched him closely as he stabbed into more meat and flower. "It's hard for me to not pick flowers that add flavour to certain dishes," Will placed the fork in his mouth and began to chew, waiting for him to go on, "Especially when they're in bloom."

Time seemed to freeze.

Will stopped chewing but maintained eye contact, suddenly hyper-aware of what he was eating.

 _It's dark on the other side, and madness is waiting._

He thought about those who had wronged him and how much better the world would be without them in it. Freddie Lounds being a prime example.

He thought about the Great Red Dragon, and how his acts of violence weren't even murder in his eyes but something else entirely, as if taking a life were an abstract art form to be interpreted however one chose to, much like a Jackson Pollock painting.

He thought about Hannibal, who was smiling now, and how endlessly interesting he was. How extraordinary it had been for him to take such an acute interest in him. He knew he had reached a fork in the road, knew his decision was being eagerly anticipated, and he knew that whichever path he took, Hannibal would be right beside him to give his love and support and protection.

He thought about who sat smiling in front of him.

He thought about who was in his mouth.

He swallowed.


End file.
